


Hot Water

by Chiyume



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Castiel, Businessman Castiel, Conspiracy, Dean Talks Dirty, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, Gay Sex, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Loud Sex, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Mutual Masturbation, Public Sex, Secret Identity, Sex Talk, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Shower Sex, Social Anxiety, Top Dean, Voyeur Castiel, Voyeur Dean, Voyeurism, hot water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-05-27 02:26:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 151,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6265927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel hated public showers.<br/>In which Castiel is forced to use the company shower after hours and ends up doing unspeakable things he never thought himself capable of...<br/>AU-fic containing mystery attractions and a lot of hot water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Re-written and improved version. (Future chapters will be uploaded weekly)
> 
> !PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS IS THE ONLY GENUINE SOURCE POST OF THIS STORY!
> 
> Due to recent events it has been removed from FF.net. Even though old tumblr posts of mine may still be in cirulation, their source posts will be removed soon as well since they no longer match this rewritten version.  
> Should you see it anywhere else, then please let me know, seeing as I have not given anyone permission to repost or upload this fic.  
> Thank you so much <3

 

* * *

 

Castiel hated public showers.

Not that the showers in the company’s dressing room were public in the sense of the word, but still.

As one of the executives, Castiel never visited this part of the building, which was usually only used by the workers who actually had to get dirty while on the job. Yet here he was, the sound of his naked feet echoing through the empty locker room as he made his way to the showers. 

Normally he would shower at home, but due to some severe water leak he suspected originated from the flat above his, the water had been shut off in the entire building until the problem got fixed. The fact that he had to buy bottled water for drinking, brushing his teeth, and brewing his coffee was not something that bothered him much; he could live with that. Not being able to use the shower in his own damn home, however, he could not.

Now, he didn’t dislike public showers because he thought they were unsanitary, or because he didn’t like socializing with other people; he disliked them because they involved getting  _ naked _ in front of other people.

He had discovered during his teens that being gay — despite popular beliefs — did not mean that showering with others of the same sex merely equaled good things. Especially not when the hormones in your body were already constantly encouraging your dick to go rigid from more or less anything that happened around you, even when the people surrounding you still had their clothes  _ on _ .

Needless to say, it had been a hard time — no pun intended.

Therefore, despite the fact that he was now an adult and had gained more control over his bodily functions, he preferred simply never having to expose himself to similar situations ever again. To be perfectly honest with himself, the very thought made him panic.

The fact that he wouldn’t be able to use the showers along with others had been quite obvious from the start, so he had made a few enquiries and come to the conclusion that the showers would be empty after six o’clock. The workers got off at four, after all, and if there was anything one could rely upon it was the punctuality of an industrial worker when it was time to go home. He had arrived to find the lights of the dressing room already out, which made him feel giddy with relief. He had proceeded with undressing himself and then as an afterthought placed his belongings inside one of the lockers.

The cool air made his skin prickle with goosebumps as he stepped into the shower room, where he was faced with the minor dilemma of which of the fifteen stalls he should use. After a few hesitant seconds he eventually picked the one in the far left corner, furthest away from the door. The stalls were open and there were no shower curtains to provide him with any shelter, should someone walk in, and the thought alone was enough to make his stomach tighten with anxiety. 

Castiel was what many people would refer to as a shy person. Castiel himself would have used ‘socially misadjusted’. 

He could handle business meetings without any trouble whatsoever; gliding through conversations with vice presidents, directors and company executives like a fish through water, but when faced with saying ‘hello’ to the person standing next to him by the coffee machine in the morning, his entire brain shut down. He would consider himself lucky if he even managed a smile. Having someone walk in on him while he showered was as mortifying to him as being caught running stark naked through the lunchroom.

But there was no one here now, so he resolutely unwrapped the blue towel from his waist and hung it over one of the metal hangers on the wall opposite to the stalls before he stepped inside and turned on the water.

It didn’t take long until his body relaxed and the tension began to slip from his shoulders. The shampoo lathered as he rubbed it onto his scalp and he let go of the deep sigh that had been sitting deep inside his chest for the major part of his day. He then proceeded with distributing body wash over the rest of his body, attempting to massage the tension out of his neck and shoulders by using the slow, rolling pressure of his fingertips. As he rinsed, it felt as if the uneasiness of being in a public shower was being washed off together with the soap. When he eventually turned off the water to step out and grab his towel, he found himself smiling.

That’s when the door to the shower room opened and someone walked in.

Castiel froze dead for a split second and then quickly jerked back into the stall once more, pressing his back against the tiled wall as if he were trying will his body into merging with it.

The new arrival whistled happily as they stepped into one of the stalls down the row, though Castiel could not determine which one with the way the sound bounced off the walls. Of course it had to be a man, given that this was the men’s locker room, but at the moment Castiel couldn’t help but feel as if being faced with a woman would somehow be better. At least then there would be an equal amount of shame between the two of them. Water was being turned on and Castiel told himself that now would be a good time to walk out of the shower, grab his towel and leave as quickly as possible. Except, he couldn’t bring himself to move. Instead he just stood there, listening to the sound of flowing water coming from the other stall while he forced himself to breathe properly as anxiety set in, making his throat constrict around itself.

He had no idea of how long he stood there, but the water on his skin soon turned cold. He wondered silently how long this guy was planning on staying when a new,  _ different  _ sound reverbed off of the white tiles. The hairs on Castiel’s arms suddenly stood straight up and his mouth fell open in shock. Then he heard it again.

The moan echoed through the shower room, low and throaty and in no way discreet. Castiel’s breath hitched involuntarily at the sound of it. There was no doubt in his mind about what that sound meant and when he heard it for the third time he felt his body flush furiously all over.

He knew that he had to leave, that him hearing this was both indecent and inappropriate, but he realized that if he were to walk out of the shower  _ now  _ it would only serve to make him look even worse. The last thing he wanted was to start a rumor that Castiel the Executive spent his evenings creeping around in the shower rooms, listening to people while they masturbated. That, along with the fact that his dick had decided to pick up an interest to the situation made him stay put. Walking out into the open would be bad enough–walking out with a raging hard-on would be unbearable! 

Yet, as he stood there, eyes resolutely shut while doing his best not to think about what was happening just a few feet away, he couldn’t help but feel confused. What was the other thinking?! Had he not seen Castiel’s towel hanging there by the wall? Or did he think the towel was left behind, forgotten by someone? Surely he  _ must _ have noticed that the lights were on; he  _ had _ to know that someone else was here… So why was he doing this? 

_ Maybe… maybe he likes it? Knowing that someone can hear him? _

The thought made Castiel’s stomach knot and his skin rise up with goose bumps again, although this time it wasn’t caused by the chill of the water still dripping from his hair. 

The man had begun to pick up speed and Castiel could hear the wet slapping of skin on skin as the man pleasured himself. The moans were getting louder and more earnest, and the sound of them made his own cock twitch and strain against his abdomen. How the hell had he managed to end up in this situation? 

“Yeah… oh fuck, yes…”

The voice of the other man made a shockwave of arousal shoot up Castiel’s spine and his eyes snapped open, his mouth barely being able to hold back a whimper. The other man obviously had no such restrictions, altering now between harsh breaths, guttural groans and bitten back obscenities as he jerked himself off faster. Castiel could not fight it any longer. He bit down on his lower lip to silence himself when his own hand wrapped around his member and started moving. 

“Ah shit… sh— oh fuck…”

Castiel’s hand was matching the sound of the stranger’s, careful not to make too much noise; and perhaps that was the reason, knowing that he had to be quiet, that he must not be heard, that made it feel so sinfully good. His body was convulsing and shivering, and his fingers were like fire on his skin; the dark rumbling from the other man stirring his insides in ways he never thought were possible.

“Fuck yeah... Oh, it feels so good… stroking my cock just like that… ah….”

The voice conjured a vision inside his head; his hand wrapped around the faceless stranger, jerking him off fast and rough with water running down their bodies. Pressed tightly together while his lips trailed hot kisses along the other’s jaw and neck, and they were coming, sweet Jesus he was coming!

“Yeah… oh yes… yes, yes,  _ yes _ …!”

Castiel’s vision whited out when the orgasm hit him and he could taste the coppery tang of blood as he bit through the skin of his lip, forcing himself to be quiet while the man down the row rode out his climax with a growled out moan. 

Castiel’s head lolled back as he slid down the wall and his free hand came up to muffle the harsh pants that spilled from his mouth. The mystery man was breathing heavily as well and Castiel could picture it: how he slowly stroked himself, his member growing limp and pliant in his hand as he milked the last of his orgasm out. Castiel was so distracted by his own thoughts that he didn’t notice how he was doing the same to himself, slowly letting the cooling come dribble down his hand and onto the floor.

Soon after the water stopped running Castiel heard the man grab his towel and walk out through the door. He didn’t dare to move from his spot on the floor, however, until the automatic lights powered off, proving that there was no more movement inside the locker room. 

He got up on wobbly legs, washed himself off and quickly retrieved his towel from the wall before practically sneaking his way back to the locker where he kept his clothes. He didn’t bother with putting on his tie, or even his socks. Instead he just pulled on his trousers and buttoned up his shirt. He slid his naked feet into his shoes, shoved the towel, shampoo bottle and tie into his bag before hurrying out the door with his suit jacket flung over his shoulder, doing his best to keep himself from running.

The journey to the parking lot was laced with the dread of someone calling out after him, and it wasn’t until he was safe inside his car that he allowed himself to relax, even though his heart was beating so hard it made the insides of his skull ache.

That had been…weird. Weird, surreal and…. He didn’t know what else to call it.

He met the look from his own eyes in the rear view mirror, and he almost blushed at himself when the full notion of what he had just done hit him.

“How the hell am I supposed to go back there now?” he asked his reflection, but predictably enough, the mirror didn’t answer.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment if you liked it ^^  
> More chapters soon to follow! <3


	2. 2

There was no way that Castiel was ever going back!

Of all the situations he could have ended up in,  _ that _ had got to have been the most implausible and most embarrassing one of all. It almost made him want to turn his gaze to the sky and ask “why me”, because it just wasn’t fair.

He was a man of dignity, with morals and good judgment—there was no excuse for his behaviour, and he felt guilty just thinking about what he had done. Saying that he hadn’t meant for it to happen simply wasn’t good enough. Just imagine trying to explain that, had he been caught.

‘Oh, this hand right here? The one around my dick? Total accident, not my fault, so very sorry.’

No, he was right in feeling ashamed; normal people didn’t  _ do _ things like that. He  _ couldn’t _ go back, masturbating strangers or not; he didn’t have the  _ right _ . 

So that’s why, when he had finished work the following day, Castiel climbed into his car and went straight to Gabriel’s house, clean towel and a change of clothes already in his sports bag.

Gabriel had his apartment not too far from Castiel’s own, but it was further away from work than Castiel’s place. It wasn’t a fancy area or anything, just well kept; a few families and elderly, but mostly young adults who had gotten to the point in their lives when it suddenly had become favourable to live in a quiet neighbourhood. Especially one where people didn’t play loud music into the wee hours of the morning, or vandalized the buildings 24-7.  

All in all it was a pleasant little area, which in Castiel’s book meant that he could park his car outside on the street without fear of getting the windows smashed, or his stereo stolen.

It didn’t take Gabriel long to answer the door, and when he opened it up, his face lit up like a solar flare at the sight of his visitor. 

“Hey bro!” he chimed, cheerful as ever, and Castiel gave him a light nod in response.

“Hello, Gabriel. May I come in?” 

Gabriel stepped aside and threw his hand out in a theatrically inviting gesture, allowing his little brother to get inside.

“For what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked as he closed the door behind him, eyes gleaming. 

To an outsider, it might have sounded as if Castiel’s presence in his home was something rare and exotic, but that wasn’t true. It was an unspoken agreement of theirs that Castiel would come over every other Friday for dinner, which consisted mostly of takeout since Gabriel couldn’t cook to save his life. Either that, or they’d just enjoy each other’s company while watching a movie, or simply flipping through the channels of the TV. 

They didn’t talk much, but neither of them deemed that necessary. The important thing was that they were  _ there _ , seeing as they were the only family they had left since Lucifer got kicked out, and Michael refused to talk to any of them anymore. Balthazar was okay; he called from time to time and visited every now and then, but it was clear that it was an act born from obligation rather than affection. Anna on the other hand was gone, having run away right after their dad did. No-one knew where. 

During the first year of her absence, Castiel’s mind had played tricks on him. He been convinced that he had seen that flaming crown of red hair of hers in every street corner, every subway and every restaurant he ever went to. As time passed, however, that too slowly faded away along with the few remaining memories of her he had left. After all, he had been but a child back then, barely in his teens, and he was convinced that he was the only one of the siblings that ever truly believed that she would come back. 

To this day he could sometimes catch himself wondering if she was even alive. That maybe she was living happily somewhere else by now; had a family and a life that she would never have been able to obtain had she stayed behind with them. Castiel hoped that this was so. He really did.

But Gabriel had always been there. Witty, snarky, sarcastic, and infuriatingly stubborn Gabriel. When their father suddenly disappeared and Michael had gone on his emotional rampage, Gabriel had been the one to pull Cas to safety. Been the one who stood between him and the bitter cold emptiness that was all that had been left of their once so stable family. 

Castiel would never be able to repay him for that. He had told his brother this once, but Gabriel had only given him a thwack over the head for his trouble and told him to stop acting like such a girl. 

It was probably the only time in his life that he had seen Gabriel blush.

But now those hazel eyes in front of him were clear and awake, flickering with the mischief that never left his brother’s mind. Castiel could relax, knowing that no matter what happened in his life, Gabriel would always be there to offer him a hand whenever he needed it.

He held out his gym bag and rustled it slightly.

“I’d like to ask if I could borrow your shower. The water in my apartment has been cut off.”

Over by the coffee table, Gabriel’s dog Bingo—a little black and white Jack Russell—raised his head and wagged his tail at Castiel in silent greeting when he heard his voice. Gabriel shrugged and walked over to the couch, flopping down on it with arms leisurely folded behind his head.

“Hey,  _ mi casa es su casa _ ,” he smiled benevolently. “Knock yourself out.”

“Thank you.”

Gabriel picked up a bottle of beer sitting on the coffee table in front of him, and when Castiel walked in front of the TV to get to the bathroom he grumbled something incoherent that Cas suspected was directed towards his trench coat to make it stop blocking the view. Judging by the little running men on the screen, his brother was watching a football game of some sort. 

Castiel had never bothered with following any sports at all, so he had no clue if the teams on the screen played for the minor or major leagues, but when it came to Gabriel leagues simply didn’t matter as long as it was sports. Every game was of equal importance, so when Castiel opened the door to the bathroom, his brother simply waved ahand in his general direction without even taking his eyes off the screen.

“Let the tap run for a while before you get in,” he advised. “It takes a second or two for the thermostat to even out, and you’ll end up with third degree burns all over your body if you’re not careful.” 

Castiel could not express in words how thankful he was that his brother still had enough presence of mind to mention that little detail.

The shower was hot, but thanks to Gabriel, Castiel got through it without any incidents. Once he was clean and dry, with new clothes on, he returned to the living room to join his brother on the sofa, giving Bingo a few scratches behind his ears on his way over.

“Beer?” Gabe picked up a bottle from the conveniently placed cooler next to the armrest and offered it to him, eyes still intently fixed on the TV. Castiel turned it down.

“I’m driving,” he said, causing Gabriel to shrug.

“So, take the bus.” He nudged the flask a bit closer.

“I hate the bus, you know that.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“Cas, you hate  _ everything _ that forces you to interact with other people. I’ll call you a cab, c’mon.”

The bottle was insistently pushed into his hand and Castiel sighed.

“Alright, but only if you actually  _ pay _ for it this time.” 

Gabriel placed his own bottle over his heart in a grand gesture.

“Scout’s honour,” he swore proudly.

“You were never in the scouts,” Castiel pointed out calmly, but Gabriel simply shrugged again.

“No, but you were there enough for the both of us, so I’m good for it.”

Castiel grimaced at the memory. His father had thought it to be a great help for Castiel’s ‘social skills’ if he got out and interacted with other young men his age, but Castiel was convinced that it had only served to make matters worse. If there was one thing he hated more than crowding with people in confined spaces, it was getting dirty, and as a boy scout, you were  _ always _ dirty.

Gabriel watched Castiel unscrew the cap of his beer and take the first mouthful before he settled back against the couch, eyes flickering between his younger brother and the ongoing game.

“So, why the sudden shower-shortage at your place?” he asked. “Did you use up all the hot water again?” Gabriel averted his eyes from the screen long enough to give Castiel a puppy dog-look filled with acted consolation, but Castiel ignored him. 

“Apparently something caused the pressure in the pipes to rise, and the fixtures didn’t hold. There’s water leakage on almost every floor.” He winced at the thought. “They’ve got it under control now, there’s not going to be that many permanent damages, but until they get the new pipes they’re going to have to keep the water shut down. I cook with water I get from work,” he added, just to let Gabriel understand the severity of the problem.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows, almost looking impressed.

“Sounds like a situation alright.” He narrowed his eyes. “But if you’re hoarding water from the office, why not use the showers they have there as well? Oh, wait, I forgot.” He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand, pretending that he had  _ just _ remembered something very important. “You get stage fright.”

“I do not get stage fright,” Castiel objected.

“Sure, whatever. We can call it cold feet if it makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t,” Castiel assured him. “And I did go there yesterday, but then—” He cut himself off, but Gabriel had already detected the hesitation in his voice, eyes digging into the side of his face in that annoyingly knowing way that only a true big brother could manage. 

“But then…?” he urged. 

Castiel sighed, taking another drink from his bottle. Gabriel watched him intently, and Cas knew that there was no escaping now. His brother would harass him to the end of days until he finally broke and told him the truth. Castiel had never been able to lie to Gabriel—not that he hadn’t tried, because God knew he had, ever since they were kids—and he knew for a fact that the other man was stubborn as a mule when he wanted something.

“I was alone, and someone came in,” he finally said, fixing his eyes on the TV screen in front of them. Mostly because he didn’t want to see the infuriating way Gabriel’s eyes would light up with curiosity at the information.

“Oh?” Guess turning around wasn’t enough; Cas could  _ hear _ the enjoyment sparkle in his brother’s voice. Apparently, the football game had just been rudely shoved down to spot number two on Gabriel’s list of things he had to know the outcome of today.

“Someone came in…” Castiel repeated, trying to figure out a way to say it that wouldn’t send his brother’s perverted imagination on a field trip, but then his own brain reminded him that accomplishing such a feat would be downright impossible.

“ _ Someone came in _ .” Gabriel was growing impatient, repeating Castiel’s words with a suggestive wave of his hand to make him continue. Castiel took a deep breath, steeling himself. 

“… and began… pleasuring himself.”

It was the silence before the storm. For a few seconds the only thing being heard was the excited blabber of the narrator’s voice coming from the TV, but then Gabriel’s face split up in a grin so feral Castiel almost expected to see fangs.

“Was it good for you?” he asked sweetly and Castiel barely managed to stop the blush that threatened to creep up his face, because no, Gabriel could not know about  _ that _ part, not ever!

“I don’t think he realized that I was there,” he said instead. “He appeared… wrapped up in his own business.”

“Oh,I can imagine,” Gabriel mused before falling back against the couch, laughing hysterically as the calm mask he had tried to uphold crumbled and fell off in an embarrassingly loud fit of gloating mirth. Castiel sat quietly, blush spreading on his cheeks without his consent while he listened to his brother’s manic giggles, waiting for him to regain his ability to speak. 

“So— so you just  _ stayed _ there, and  _ listened _ throughout the whole thing?” Gabriel finally managed to choke out, tears streaming from his eyes, and that’s why Cas really  _ loathed _ his brother sometimes. Because if there was one question in a sea of questions that Castiel did  _ not  _ want to be asked, one could be certain that Gabe would be the one to ask it. On the first go nonetheless.

“It seemed rude to embarrass him,” he grumbled, and this time Gabriel threw his head back and  _ howled _ with laughter. Bingo sat up from his blanket and looked at his owner, tilting his head as if he had trouble deciding whether the sounds coming from Gabriel were an indication of pain or joy. 

“Oh my  _ god _ !” Gabriel choked. “Who would have thought my baby brother would turn into such a  _ creeper _ !”

“I did not  _ creep _ ,” Castiel objected sourly, but that only made Gabriel laugh even harder. There was no doubt that Castiel was blushing now, because his face felt as if he had just taken it out of a heated oven.

“So that’s why you came here?” Gabriel chimed in between gasps as he fought for air. “Because you ended up in an involuntary peep-show?”

“I didn’t  _ watch _ him!” Castiel snapped, appalled. “I don’t even know what he looked like.”

“But  _ still _ ,” Gabriel objected. “You were  _ there _ , bro! Do you have any idea of how hilarious that is?”

Castiel looked the wet stripes of tears that covered his brother’s face.

“I can only imagine,” he said dryly.

“Ah, Jesus…” Gabriel sat up, wiping at his eyes and chuckling. “And  _ you, _ who can’t even buy underwear without stuttering. You must have been a  _ mess _ .”

“Quite literally, yes,” Castiel agreed. Technically it wasn’t a lie, and unless he made a big deal out of it, Gabriel would never be able to figure out what  _ kind _ of mess he was referring to. 

“So I guess this is the part where you ask if I could spare my bathroom to your ministrations for a while longer?” Gabriel jabbed him in the side with his elbow and Castiel took another gulp of beer.

“If it doesn’t cause you inconvenience,” he said calmly, because in contraire to his brother, he still had manners.

“Or…” Gabriel placed a long finger against the bridge of his nose. “…we could both start using the showers at your job. I’d like to get a look at this mystery-man myself.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Castiel raised a brow at his brother’s perverted face.

“I thought you were already seeing someone?”

“I am,” Gabriel said, almost sounding offended. “Or I will be. On Tuesday. Give me some credit, will ya?”

Castiel frowned.

“What happened to that blonde girl,” he asked. “Karol something?”

“With a C,” Gabriel confirmed before leaning back against the couch. “Turned out she wasn’t as into me as I thought. Or any other guy for that matter. She’s living with her girlfriend now. They’re very happy.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel offered, more out of duty than actual concern. He had never even met the girl so it was a little hard to relate.

“Naaw, don’t be.” Gabriel waved him off. “It was all for the better, actually. You should see the guy I’m dating now. Jesus, I swear, I could fry pancakes on his abs, he’s so hot!”

“The guy you’re seeing on Tuesday?” Castiel asked, just to make sure. With Gabriel one could never know for certain.

“Yeah, my very own Adonis.” Gabriel licked his lips in an excessive pornographic motion. “Good enough to eat.”

“I think I get the picture, thank you,” Castiel smiled. “I’m happy for you.”

Gabriel sent a playful glare at him.

“You damn well better be. I expect nothing but encouragement from you in this matter, or I’m going to punish you by putting a time-lock on the shower.”

Castiel rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“It was  _ one _ time, Gabriel. Let it go.”

“Now what kind of a brother would I be if I did that?” Gabriel objected. “Besides, how am I supposed to shower if you wash all the hot water down the drain?”

“I was  _ seven _ .”

“Yeah, and cute as a button too,” Gabriel smirked. 

Castiel glowered at him.

“May I remind you that it was actually  _ your _ fault to begin with?  _ You _ told me it was one of those new, modern showers that turned themselves off when you left the bathroom.”

”I thought it was,” Gabriel shrugged, obviously not sorry.

“You’re unbelievable,” Castiel snorted.

“I prefer the term ‘mind-baffling’.”

“You’re an ass.” 

“And you’re a creeper—I win.”

“I didn’t  _ creep _ .”

“Dude, you were  _ so _ creeping!”

“Shut up.”

“Ass.”

“Butt.”

Gabriel took a deep swig from his bottle and settled back against the couch with a smirk.

“Creep.”

/\/\/\

Castiel had a way of doing things by routine almost every day. It was essential for his mental well being, and also for ensuring that he didn’t end up with his agenda completely scrambled, leaving bits and pieces of his carefully assembled plans scattered all over the place. Whenever he was forced to break said routines, for whatever reason, the remains of the day would inevitably end in utter failure, or worse. Today was one of those days, and it had started early...

Life had decided to greet him with a classic this morning; a malfunctioning alarm clock. Instead of his normal alarm, he had been rudely awakened by the wireless phone on his bedside table, ringing of the hook and sending shrilling spikes of discomfort through his head. He seriously needed to get that ringtone changed—if he ever figured out  _ how _ . 

Grabbing the device, he tried to clear the gravel out of his throat (why did people do that anyway? It wasn’t as if sleeping became something shameful the very moment you were caught doing it) and picked up.

“Hello…?” he grumbled, trying to shake the haze of lingering sleep out of his head.

“Castiel? It’s me, Becky.”

“Becky?” Castiel’s mind immediately cleared at the sound of his secretary’s voice. “Why are you calling this early?"

“Early?” There was a confused pause. “Mr Novak, you do know that it’s almost half past nine, right?”

Castiel jerked into sitting position, covers pooling by his waist.

“What?” he breathed.

“Yeah… uh, I was just calling to check if you were sick. You have a meeting in—”

“Yes. Yes of course, I—”

He scrambled to his feet, sleep induced mind making way for the panic rapidly kicking to the surface. 

“Castiel?”

“I’ll be right there,” he assured her, scanning the room in search of his clothes. “Tell the board I got stuck in traffic or something.”

“You want me to—” Becky almost sounded terrified, but Cas didn’t have the time for moral high grounds at the moment.

“Lie to them, yes, that would be perfect. Thank you, Becky.”

He hung up before she could say anything else, and he threw the phone back onto the bed, cursing out loud.

Trousers, socks, shirt and jacket came on in a jumbled flourish. The hair could have been worse so it would have to do while breakfast on the other hand was completely out of the question. He was well aware of the fact that his tie was hanging crooked and askew from his neck when he grabbed his briefcase, but he would simply have to fix it later.

Traffic was lousy, but at least it made him feel less guilty about making Becky lie for him. He arrived at his destination exactly three minutes before the meeting was due, and he swore that he had never been on a slower elevator ride in his  _ life!  _

There were more than a few raised eyebrows at the sight of him as he entered the conference room, and it wasn’t until he had already murmured out the low apology about traffic that he realized that this didn’t explain his haphazard state of attire the slightest. No one said anything about it though.

The meeting was slow and boring; just a long, tedious walkthrough of numbers and calculations. Very important, of course, but horribly, horribly dull. Castiel preferred the meetings that actually lead to decisions which provided better functionality to the company. 

These meetings were scarce however, and instead he had to endure times like this; listening to old men blabber about savings and efficiency rates. Apparently something, somewhere wasn’t providing the profits the board wanted it to, even though it  _ was _ a profit. It just didn’t reach up to that final billion that they would have liked, and they were now discussing alternate ways of getting that billion, which of course could mean only one thing… 

Castiel hated it when they talked cut backs, because if there was one thing sure as amen after a sermon, it was that if anything got cut back on, it would never be the salaries or privileges of the men sitting around this very table. It was always the little guys; the very people working double shifts already to make the company go round that would have to take the hit, not these guys. 

Castiel was the youngest member there, and even he was only allowed because of a formality. He didn’t have much of a say, especially since his opinion in this matter wasn’t considered very appropriate. So he sat there, trying to concentrate on the grinding voice belonging to Zachariah; the bald little suit standing at the front of the long table, pointing to a screen and feeding them statistics especially brought forward in order to strengthen his cause. 

Zachariah drove an expensive car, wore a tailored suit, got his nails manicured at least once every other week, and Castiel was convinced that he also bleached his teeth; making that fake smile of his look even faker. Castiel despised the man with every fibre of his body.

The meeting dragged out, and when it was finally time for lunch Castiel was so hungry he thought he was going to die. He went to the cafeteria, thinking that he would just buy something quick from there and then eat it by his desk. He needed to catch up with the time he had missed out on this morning anyway. That’s when life decided to punch him in the face for the second time that morning, when he realized that his wallet was still lying on the kitchen table back in his apartment.

It became Becky’s job to save him yet again, and even though he refused to let her pay for an entire meal, she insisted on sharing the food she had brought along for herself, claiming she had overdone the portion size anyway. It actually tasted pretty good, and he had to admit that there was something pleasantly nice about sitting by her desk, just talking for a while. 

His dear assistant could come across as a bit eccentric at first, but Castiel didn’t mind since he wasn’t exactly considered to be socially perfect himself. They functioned surprisingly well together. Like now, as Becky talked and Castiel noded silently in agreement while chewing his food, they were completing each other in their own way. She being incapable of silence, and him being awkwardly polite enough not to interrupt, and all in all, forgetting his wallet turned out to be not that bad.

The day trudged on, and even though he did his best to stay positive at the end of the day—after having his computer freeze up on him, thusly forcing him to rewrite an entire report once over; wrestled with the printer in the copy room; spilling coffee all over his suit jacket, and on top of that also having been forced to work late—he was in no mood for any more of fate’s cruel jokes.

He didn’t care how much Gabriel would hate him for it; tonight he was going to use up every single drop of hot water during his shower, and then he was going  _ home _ . The thought of his bed filled him up so completely that when he arrived at his brother’s house and rang the doorbell it took him a few moments to notice that it was abnormally quiet on the other side of the door.

He rang the bell again, but still, no one came to answer. 

Making sure no one was around to see him he bent down and peered in through the mail shoot. There were no lights on inside, and there was no sign of Bingo either. Obviously Gabriel wasn’t home.

“Oh, come on…”

He pulled out his cell phone, scrolling through the very few names in his phonebook until he reached Gabriel’s number and dialled.

Frustration rose like bile in his throat as the tone rang in his ear, threatening to spill over when Gabriel picked up first after what must have been the twentieth ring.

“Dude,  _ what _ ?” Gabriel  grumbled through the phone, and Castiel had to force himself to take a deep breath before he spoke.

“I’m outside your apartment,” he said slowly. “Where are you?”

“Not there, obviously.” Jeez, Gabriel sounded real prissy, but then his brother’s voice softened slightly as he added: “Bro, it’s  _ Tuesday _ .”

It took Castiel’s brain a few moments, but then it finally clicked.

“It’s Tuesday,” he repeated dumbly before wincing. “I’m sorry. I completely forgot.”

There was a brief silence, and now Castiel could hear the swirl of talking voices and the clutter of tableware coming from the background. Gabriel must be in a restaurant or something.

“You sound like someone pissed in your cereal this morning,” his brother said. “Something wrong?”

Castiel snorted.

“A lot of things actually, but none involving cereals.” He dragged a tired hand through his hair. ”I suppose you don’t have a spare key lying around somewhere?” he asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

“Sorry bro, no dice.” Gabriel actually did sound sorry.

“Oh.”

There was a second, unfamiliar male voice heard on the other side of the line, but Castiel couldn’t make out the words.

“Naw, just my brother.” Castiel raised a brow as there were more words, sounding curious.

“No, he just wanted to borrow something of mine.” Then Gabriel laughed. “You worry too much, babe, Cas is a big boy, he can take care of himself—and don’t you go getting any perverted ideas about that one, creeper,” he added to Castiel.  

“Ass,” Castiel said automatically.

“Butt,” Gabriel answered, smiling even through the phone, and for a short moment Castiel actually felt a bit better.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Castiel said. “Sorry again for interrupting.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it.”

“Have fun.”

He ended the call and trudged back to his car, getting behind the wheel. He only had one option left, and even though he seriously contemplated the action of simply going home, the thought about not having a shower was like an itch beneath his skin. He wanted a shower. He  _ needed  _ that shower.

Thirty minutes later, he was back with his car on Edenstar’s parking lot once more. He turned the ignition off, threw a final, determined look at himself in the rear-view mirror and then got out, heading for the main entrance of the office building with his gym bag in a tight grip of his hand. 

Usually he would have had to use his key card and code to get inside and turn the alarm off, but when he reached the corridor separating the office building from the workshop premises, the alarm was not on yet. He frowned and looked around, but there was no one to be seen. The last person out must have forgotten to activate the alarm when they left; it happened sometimes even though it shouldn’t—human error and all that…  

It was quiet, and the automatic lights whirred and flickered on in time as the sensors registered him walking down the hallways. He still had not heard or seen a single soul when he reached the locker rooms, but he wasn’t surprised. It was late and everyone seemed to have gone home, the machine hall lying dark and empty.

He didn’t bother with placing his possessions in a locker this time. He simply threw them down on top of the nearest bench, pulled his shampoo and towel out from the bag, and headed for the showers, too peeved and annoyed at everything to even care about covering himself up with it. 

The hot spray of water was like liquid bliss against his skin. He wasted no time pouring shampoo into his hands, proceeding to spread it all over himself until he was thoroughly covered in lather and large, fluffy suds.

He was meticulously enjoying himself getting clean when he heard the sound of the door as it swung open, followed by footsteps entering the room. He stilled, his heart beginning to race, but he willed it down. He sharply told himself that he wasn’t doing anything wrong; he was just enjoying his shower. He had  _ earned _ this shower dammit, and no one was going to steal that away from him, not even his own absurd fears, or someone else’s freaky exhibitions.

So he continued showering, even if he turned so that his back was facing outwards, ignoring the little skip his stomach made when the shower next to his was turned on. The sound of double sprays of water hitting tiled floor was now echoing in the white room, and Castiel slowly began to relax when nothing else happened. A luxury he wasn’t allowed to keep for long before he heard the quickening of breath rise from the other side of the stall.

His gut turned to ice, hands freezing against his skin as the same voice he had heard the other day started panting. Castiel’s mouth fell open in shock because there was no way that this was all a coincidence. This time it was evidently clear that the other knew he was there, and he still— 

For some reason the thought made him furious. After this entire day of epic failure,  _ this _ was the last fucking thing he needed to be put through,  _ again _ . e cleared his throat, loud and audible enough for it to be heard throughout the whole room.

There was a hitch of breath, and for a moment Castiel thought he had succeeded in his task. Then the man on the other side let out a low moan.

“Do you  _ mind _ ?” Castiel snapped, and this time there was silence, the only audible sound being that of water flushing down the drain.

The stranger let out a long, shaky breath, and then he actually had the audacity to  _ laugh _ .

“What?” he chuckled. “You’ve gone prude all of a sudden?”

Castiel frowned. There was no embarrassment in that voice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he gruffed.

Water sloshed, and Castiel could really have done without the suggestive images his brain produced at that sound.

“Just that you didn’t seem to mind so much last time.”

Something hot and sharp twisted low in Castiel’s gut at the words.

“I’m sorry, you must have me confused with someone else,” he said grimly, reaching for his shampoo bottle. He was leaving. Like right the fuck now.

“You’re telling me that there are  _ two  _ people at this company who have a towel like that?”

Castiel turned around and looked at his towel to see what the other was talking about.

It was true; he had brought the same blue towel that he had used last week–navy blue with a pattern of white and black stripes along the edges. 

There was nothing particularly eye-catching about it at all. It wasn’t the newest addition to his linen closet, he admitted to that, but it fulfilled its purpose just fine.

“Especially one with a torn edge like that corner there?” the other man added, and Castiel’s jaw clenched at the evidently smug smile he heard in the strange’s voice. When Cas didn’t answer he continued:

“Hey, there’s no need to be embarrassed. I got off on it too, didn’t I?”

“I did not get off on anything,” Castiel grated back, feeling heat rise on his cheeks, but the other just laughed again.

“Dude, you weren’t exactly  _ quiet _ .”

He was lying, Castiel had not made a sound, he was sure of it. He had to be lying.

He had to be.

“But like I said, there’s no need to get your panties in a twist,” the other continued, and Castiel heard the sound of soap being squirted out from a bottle.

“In case you’ve missed it, those garments are for women,” Castiel retorted acidly, fisting his hands by his sides. Just who the hell did this guy think he was?

“You’re right, my mistake,” the stranger offered graciously. “I bet a guy like you wears boxers anyway. Like the dark ones out there. The kind that wrap snug and hold everything in place.”

“You went through my clothing?” Castiel’s seeping anger immediately gave way for startled shock.

“Your stuff’s lying tossed around all over the place,” the man explained. “They’re pretty hard to miss.” 

“That doesn’t give you the right to—”

“Mmm, I bet you look nice in that suit too,” the voice on the other side of the wall moaned silently. “Like sex on legs…”

The sloshing was back, softer and slower this time, but evidently clear. Castiel swallowed hard.

“Bet you’d look even hotter taking it off… You sound like a guy who could put on a real show if you wanted to… Voice all gravely and hoarse like that… It’s like it was  _ made _ for sex.”

Castiel didn’t know how to respond to that, he had no fucking clue. Instead he just stood there, blushing fifty shades of red as the stranger continued, the flow of water distorted as he clearly stroked himself under the steaming spray of water.

“I’d like to hear you when you touch yourself,” the other revealed. “Bet you get real loud, don’t you? I’m sure you were trying real hard to stay quiet that last time…”

Castiel’s breath quickened, pulse rising. Had he been that obvious? Had he?

“I thought about how you’d do that…” the stranger continued lazily. “Hands touching all over… rubbing yourself off to the sound of my voice… Wishing I was right in there with you…” 

“Stop,” Castiel ordered, but his trembling voice fell on deaf ears. His body was already reacting to the imagery inside his head while his heart pounded furiously in his chest, sending all blood straight south.

“I’d touch you, you know,” the other moaned. “I’d touch you, just like I’m touching myself right now. Hand on your cock, all hot and swollen for me…”

Castiel’s voice hitched, and he heard the other’s movement speed up. The water running over his body was warm and steaming, but it felt cold compared to the heat that flashed through his body listening to that intoxicating ramble from the other side of the tiles. 

The mysterious man’s voice was low and throaty, rumbling like thunder as he kept talking, describing in detail how he would jerk Castiel off, how he would squeeze and rub, stroke and drag along skin. Castiel had to forcefully slap a hand over his own mouth to keep himself from moaning. His erection was hanging stiff and unattended between his legs, twitching and begging for attention with every sentence from the other man’s mouth.

“I’d go down on you too…” the stranger gasped, words rushing from his lips now. “Wrap my lips around your cock and s—suck you off… Fuck… I—I’d let my tongue… hah… lick you while I stroked you up and down… and I—  Oh, shit… Oh, yeah… Yes... yes,  _ fuck…! _ ”

The sound of the other’s climax made Castiel’s stomach clench, caused his head to sear, and had he been a teenager with a little less control of himself he would probably have spilled his own release right there, touched or not. 

He was so hard he ached, and he wanted to reach down and fist himself fast and rough, but he was too furious and too proud to give the other the satisfaction of knowing this fucked up situation had managed to make him hard in the first place. It was confusing as hell. If there was something Castiel had never been into, it was voyeurism! 

The thought that he had more or less spied on some unknown person without their knowledge had given him nausea just the other day, but now things were tremendously different. The other had admitted to knowing he had not been alone when he had pleasured himself, and Castiel’s guilt converted into anger, because now he felt  _ used. _ Taken advantage of simply because of the fact that he had been  _ there _ when this guy had decided to have his not-so-private session with himself.

The fury raging in his chest was almost hot enough to rival the strain of his groin, but barely so. 

This guy was  _ sick _ . A pervert getting off on other people’s humiliation, and Castiel was not about to humour him the slightest.

When the other’s breath slowed down, getting more even, Castiel swallowed once more, willing the tremble he knew would be in his voice down before speaking.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked dryly, making sure to pour every ounce of disgust, sarcasm and poison into the tone as he could manage.

“Oh, yeah...” the other moaned, and Castiel almost threw his fist at the wall. Obviously the other guy wasn’t even smart enough to take a goddamn  _ hint _ .

“I suppose forcing me to listen really does it for you then,” he snarled. There was a moment of silence,and when the other finally spoke there was now evident hurt and confusion in his voice where satisfaction had been only moments earlier.

“Hey, I never forced you to stay,” he said quietly. “If it pissed you off so much you could’ve just left…”

Castiel turned his head and glared at the stranger through the wall.

“I have the right to be here just as much as you do.” 

“I never said you didn’t,” the man objected. “Fuck, what’s your deal anyway?”

“ _ My _ deal?” Castiel almost choked on his own voice. “Says the one who gets his kicks from jumping people in public showers!”

“I haven’t touched you, asshole,” the other growled. “And if you want to leave then just do so. Or  _ maybe _ …” he quipped, “the reason you’re so upset is that you’re not able to admit that this actually turns you on too?”

“It has nothing t—” Castiel began, but the man obviously didn’t want to listen.

“You must have found something worth staying for since you’re still here!” He snapped. “I’m not an idiot.”

“I’m not—”

“And if this somehow triggered your inner homophobe, then fine,” the stranger snarled. “I’ve been around that part of town before, I know what that feels like, but it doesn’t give you the right to take your unresolved shit out on me.”

“Would you  _ shut up _ ?!” Castiel was actually yelling. “I’m not a homophobe, you perverted jerk; I’m  _ gay _ ! The reason I’m pissed off is that you just assumed that just because I’m still  _ here, _ that somehow makes whatever this shit you think you’re playing at  _ okay _ !”

He was so furious he was shaking, and the thought of just walking around that infuriating wall and punching the guy in the face was so tempting he almost forgot the fact that he was naked.

“I just wanted a goddamn  _ shower _ !”

His words echoed in the stunned silence that followed. Water poured and the steam was billowing around him, swirling white against the even whiter tiles. His erection was slowly fading away, forgotten in the shadow of the angry red heat that slowly unfurled within him.

“Fine,” the other voice gritted out, anger threading through the word like venom. “Then don’t let me disturb you.”

The rush of water ended abruptly and then there were feet stomping across the floor, and then the loud wince of the locker door echoed through the room as it was flung open with a vicious yank.

Castiel stood in the hot spray of his own shower, limbs shaking and teeth gnashing together while humiliation, anger and unfulfilled urges crowded and clawed inside his chest like a wild animal trying to escape a cage.

Great. Fucking  _ perfect _ ! 

He fisted his hand and then slammed it with full force into the wall by his head, his momentary satisfaction immediately overrun by the sharp flash of pain that shot down his arm to settle throughout the length of the limb like a dull throb. The wall didn’t even give him a gratifying sound in return, just the low, unwavering slap of wet flesh against ceramic.

He grabbed his shampoo bottle, turned off the shower and then tore his towel from its hook, following the stranger’s path out the door. The locker room was empty when he entered, a puddle of water near one of the lockers being the only trace of another person ever being there. Clothes were put on with twitchy motions, every garment adjusted deliberately methodically in order to keep the heat bubbling just beneath the surface of Castiel’s skin from spilling over the edge. 

The ride home went remarkably smooth, as if the world had finally decided to cut him some slack, but it didn’t bring him any sense of fulfilment. He didn’t bother to unpack his wet towel, not sure if he’d be able to stand the sight of the damn thing right now, and instead went straight to bed, leaving his clothes in a scattered trail from the hall to the bedroom. 

And if his brain willed forth the memory of a throaty voice, gasping out obscenities through the obscuring sound of running water while he jerked himself off later, it was nothing but mere coincidence, and completely without his consent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :)  
> Next chapter will be up next Thursday, as usual.  
> Stay healthy and take care of yourselves! <3


	3. 3

The weeks that followed were horrible.

No matter how hard he tried, Cas just wasn’t able to get the thought of the mystery male out of his head. It was infuriating to say the least, because the man was in every way absolutely  _ despicable— _ and an obvious asshole—but that didn’t seem to matter to Castiel’s raging libido. 

The intoxicating scenarios the stranger had painted while getting off in the shower next to his clung to the inside of Castiel’s skull. They followed him everywhere he went, and it was driving him crazy!

His thoughts kept straying from work more and more often, to the point where he actually wondered why he even bothered going to the board meetings anymore. Instead, he found himself wasting all his focus on listening in on other people’s conversations. Whenever he happened to venture outside his own department, he unconsciously ended up eavesdropping on every single person he came across, hoping to hear the sound of that one specific voice yet again. 

Slowing his steps down while passing a group of people in the hallway; lingering by the coffee machine in the lunchroom, pretending to pour sugar into his coffee… These were all things he hadn’t even realized that he was doing until suddenly he caught himself actually  _ following  _ a group of people into the elevator, for no good reason other than to hear them  _ talk _ . He had gotten so ashamed of himself that he had ended up lashing out at the only unfortunate co-worker who had happened to be around by the time he got back to his office. Poor Becky barely had the nerve to direct his calls anymore… 

The situation was so absurd that he seriously contemplated walking down to Human Resources himself to ask if anyone had been working later hours than usual lately, but in the end he refrained from it. 

Not only would it be an incredibly strange thing to ask, but it wouldn’t exactly do him any good either. Edenstar was a big company, and even though the mystery man used the showers designated to the workshop personnel, that didn’t necessarily mean that he actually  _ worked  _ by the machine halls. Like Castiel himself, he could just as well work in any part of the building and then use the showers before he went home. Technically, doing so wasn’t allowed, but Castiel was not about to tell anyone, seeing as he did the same thing himself. 

He also did not want to risk the probability that other people would come snooping around the locker rooms after hours. Not until he had water back in his apartment at least.  _ One  _ perverted weirdo was quite enough, thank you very much. Or as things were developing below his waistline whenever his mind raised the subject of the other man— _ two _ perverted weirdoes. 

It was wearing him down, slowly but surely. He had to stay alert and focused at all times, because if he allowed his thoughts to stray too far for even a second, he would often snap back to reality only to find himself already semi-hard in his trousers. 

It was embarrassing, to say the least. He hated the involuntary sense of excitement it gave him, the way it managed to make him feel so  _ alive _ . Yet, even though he hated it, the predicament always left him fighting the tempting urge to lock his office door, fold the blinds and take care of the problem himself, right there by his desk. To indulge in the pleasure his mind and body offered him, if only for a moment.

He never did, though. 

Instead, he tried his best to will the disobedient erection down by burying himself in statistics and work, which was surprisingly effective, to a point. The stranger’s husky voice was quickly drowned out by a staggering wave of efficiency rates and sales figures, but the energy it took left Castiel’s head feeling completely drained by the end of each day. 

Once work was done, he was left more or less defenceless from the suggestive thoughts that crowded inside his mind, threatening to take him over from the very moment he left his office to head for the parking lot. Usually he managed to get himself home alright, but there were days, moments, when he wasn’t as lucky.

One afternoon he had literally been forced to pull over; traffic being far too hectic and his brain far too lost in the thoughts of hot showers and raspy voices to even drive properly. 

He had pulled off the road and ended up parked by an abandoned workers plant. All it had taken was a few hard rubbs from his hand, shoved down the front of his trousers, and he had ended up coming so hard he almost blacked out. The rest of the ride home had gone smoothly, but the shame of his own desperation, along with the feel of cooling come against his skin had been eating him up from the inside out the entire way back.

He was slowly losing his mind.

And to make matters even worse, the people working with the pipes in his building had screwed up royally, having ordered the wrong parts for the repairs. So now they had to wait for that mess to get sorted and for the correct parts to arrive before they could even  _ continue _ working.

In his frustration, Castiel had ended up staying indefinitely at Gabriel’s in order to save himself some time and money. Driving back and forth between three locations every day wasn’t exactly cheap, and left little time to do much else. Castiel liked his car, but he would prefer if he didn’t have to  _ live  _ in it.

The only downside about living with Gabriel was the fact that Castiel was now rarely, if ever, alone, and the effort it took not let his sexual frustration show in front of his brother was taxing, to say the least. Castiel could not allow himself to relax for as much as a second, lest he give himself away. Gabe was like a bloodhound whenever he suspected that something was off, and Castiel did  _ not  _ want him to come poking his nose into this. 

For Castiel, this turned every day into a long, seemingly infinite stretch of repressed urges, which only stopped once he went to bed. When he finally got to lay down to sleep on Gabriel’s sofa at night, his body practically wrenched the controls away from him. Somehow, he always ended up with his hand wrapped tight around himself, biting the pillow so that his brother wouldn’t hear the muffled noises Cas made when he came, hard and messy into his own hand underneath the covers. 

He hadn’t realized just how loud his breathing actually got when he masturbated. Not until the new and unfamiliar silence of Gabe’s apartment had settled around him after the lights had gone out on that very first night of his stay. Willing his voice down was perhaps the most difficult thing he had ever learnt to do in such a short amount of time—mainly motivated by the fact that he didn’t want to give Gabriel something new to tease him about. 

Perhaps the stranger hadn’t been lying about having heard him that time in the showers after all…?

Nevertheless, Castiel’s life was Hell. Pure and simple, and in spite of his efforts, his new, irritable state of mind unfortunately didn’t go his sibling by unnoticed.

One Friday morning Castiel walked into the kitchen and found Gabriel standing in front of the fridge, gulping down milk straight out of the carton. When Cas entered Gabe gave him a distracted little wave with the half-eaten sandwich in his other hand, but he didn’t stop drinking.

“Do you  _ have _ to do that?” Cas snapped, to which Gabriel answered by simply humming out a “mmhm” into the packing, not even breaking away for air.

“It’s distasteful,” Castiel pointed out, more insistent. 

Gabriel sighed contently and put the carton down on the countertop.

“We need more milk,” he announced.

“Then I  _ suppose _ you’re going to have to buy some  _ more _ ,” Castiel bit back, earning a raised brow from the other man.

“My, are we bitchy today.” Gabriel hopped up on the counter and took a greedy bite out of his sandwich, peanut butter and jelly dripping down onto his fingers only to get sucked away with a childishly satisfied pop moments later.

“We seriously need to get your ass laid soon, or you’ll end up hurting some poor bastard before the week is over.”

“Perhaps  _ some _ bastards would deserve it,” Cas quipped with a glare, but Gabriel just grinned around his food in response to the threat.

“You know, my pet moose might have a friend you’d like. If you behave I could ask him to introduce you?”

“No thanks,” Castiel muttered into his coffee. “I’m still trying to forget the last time you tried to fix me up with someone.”

“Bro, I had  _ no idea _ Raphael would be like that! He seemed like such a nice guy when I met him; I honestly thought the two of you would hit it off.”

“Oh, there was nothing wrong with him,” Castiel drawled. “Except that he was a three times my size and tried to convince me to blow him in his van before we even got to the restaurant.”

“Yeah, one could think he’d at least have manners enough to buy you dinner  _ first _ ,” Gabriel agreed sarcastically.  “Then again, I suppose a foot to the crotch and a broken nose kinda kills the mood, huh?”

“Well, he deserved it,” Castiel grumbled.

“Indeed he did...” Gabriel’s bright eyes darkened momentarily, but then he jumped off the counter and gave Castiel a playful punch to the arm. “C’mon, Rocky, cheer up! Know what? Sam and I are going out tonight, you should come with us.” 

“Sam?” Castiel asked in confusion.

“Yeah, Sam. You know… my  _ moose _ ,” Gabe offered as an explanation, realizing with an eyeroll that Castiel had no idea who he was talking about. Castiel raised a sceptical eyebrow at him Suddenly Gabe’s nicknames made even less sense than they had before—what likeness did the name ‘Sam’ have with ‘Moose’? 

Gabriel must have seen the dubious expression on his face, because he waved his hand dismissively.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it when you see him.”

Castiel shook his head.

“No, I’d just be in the way. I’ll stay in tonight, do some reading.”

“You sure? Because you could use a little something-something to get your head screwed on straight, if you know what I mean.” Gabriel winked at him. “As a matter of fact, there’s this beautiful little club downtown where they specialize in—”

“Gabriel…” Castiel threatened. Whatever that club was famous for, if it came from his brother, he did not want to hear it.

Gabriel shrugged.

“Fine, suit yourself.” He sauntered up to the front door, grabbing his jacket from a hanger on the way. “But if you change your mind you have my number!” he called out just before the door slammed shut behind him, never giving Cas a chance to answer.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Castiel actually  _ did _ think about taking his brother up on the offer of joining them later that evening, but every time he was about to pick up his phone and call, he changed his mind, settling back onto the sofa with a tired sigh.

What difference would it make? Even if he went out he still wouldn’t have the courage to actually talk to anyone. And even if he  _ did _ somehow manage to produce something that could resemble a proper conversation, it still wouldn’t do him any good.

He had lost interest in the TV a long time ago, and his book had been left forgotten on the coffee table with a partially eaten microwaved dinner, already cold, sitting next to it. His entire body was itching, restless and impatient, but not for food or entertainment.

Of course he knew what it was his subconscious wanted, of course he did. The thought had been in the back of his mind for days; it was like a craving, something gnawing at him from the inside out, and it was new, and unfamiliar, and disturbing, and he hated it!

He was not denying that the events with the faceless stranger had left the conception of his own sexual kinks rattled and confused. He was still confused, but during the past week he had at least been able to come to terms with the fact that yes, they had excited him. 

The thoughts and memories of the other’s actions were haunting him constantly. That faceless voice echoed and whispered to him in the back of his head during every waking hour of the day, only to grow even more persistent when night fell. 

It was ridiculous, and pretty damn awkward, but Castiel actually regretted the tantrum he had thrown during their last meeting… Sort of.

He had never been one to indulge in emotionally detached sexual relations, but this once he was actually toying with the idea. If he hadn’t said the things he had said back then; if he had just let things evolve, who knew what could have happened? 

But the thought also scared him, because what if someone found out? 

Doing such a thing at the local bath house or any other place would have been one thing, but this was his workplace. No matter which way he turned, he couldn’t deny the fact that if he was ever to be caught doing such a thing with a male co-worker, it could potentially risk his entire career. 

He hadn’t told anyone at work about his inclination towards other men, in fear of just that, but to be fair the topic had never been brought up before either. It wasn’t like it was written in the company policy that homosexuality was unwelcomed, but considering that people like Zachariah and his henchmen were the ones pulling the strings, Castiel wouldn’t be surprised if there was a clause hidden in there somewhere. 

Castiel had no intention of lying about his sexual orientation, but he wasn’t sure if risking his job for a quick hump after hours was something he was prepared to do. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair, but it was the reality of the situation.

So here he was, sitting alone in his brother’s apartment on a Friday night. Stomach stirring and his head lost in thoughts of a man he had no identity or description of, unable to do anything about it because he was too damn worried about his  _ reputation _ .

Now didn’t that paint a pretty picture?

Unprompted, his thoughts drifted to his brother. 

Gabriel would never have let such a trivial thing as reputation stop him. Gabriel took what he wanted, when he wanted it. If anyone dared to comment, Gabe would simply give them the proudest middle finger in the history of mankind and then go about his business with a grin plastered all over his face.

Castiel sighed, pulled out his phone, glared at the screen and then put it back into his pocket. He wondered if there was anyone working late tonight… If there was someone using the showers right now…

A vision hit him then, like a slap to the face. The vision of someone else standing in the shower he had used himself not too long ago. Someone else, listening to the same low growl that had come to change Castiel’s entire world with just the hitch of a breath, enjoying it like Castiel had only dared to enjoy it in the safety of his own home. 

The thought made him fist his hands in his lap, only to stand up with an aggravated huff moments later.

He wasn’t jealous. The idea was preposterous. Why would he be jealous of such a thing? It wasn’t like he cared about if that pervert did…  _ that _ with other people. 

He paced back and forth in front of the TV, throwing angry glances at himself in the reflection of the dark window. Bingo looked up from his bed by the door, giving him a confused look.

“Like I care about what he does,” Castiel said heatedly to no one in particular, and the little terrier tilted his head slightly to the left in response.

“It’s not like there’s anything special about him—he’s just a voice!”

The dog’s head tilted right. 

“And even if he  _ wasn’t _ doing that with someone else, I’ve already told him to stay away from me, so there’s really no point in thinking about it.”

The head tilted left.

“It’s not like he’d be happy to hear from me again.” 

Bingo tilted his head to the right again, giving a low whine. Castiel stopped his pacing and looked down at the dog.

“You think he’d…?” He didn’t bother finishing his sentence; he just shook his head violently, taking up his angry stomping once more.

“Even if I went and he—by some miracle–happened to be there too, what the hell would I say to him?” He threw his arms out, and Bingo whimpered as he rested his head onto his paws.

“It’s not like ‘Sorry I called you a freak, could you please go back to verbally fucking my brains out?’ is an apology...”

Bingo barked at him.

Castiel looked at the dog for a few seconds and then he viciously dug the heels of his palms into his eyes with a groan.

“I’m taking sexual relationship advice from a goddamn mutt...” he winced. The mutt in question sat up and barked again, as if he was offended by the degrading term.

Castiel locked eyes with the dark brown globes directed his way.

“Alright…” He bent down, holding the dog’s gaze. “Do you think I should call your obnoxious owner? Tell him to hook me up with some random stranger and get me laid, so that I then can go back to living my ordinary life?”

Bingo looked back at him, tilted his head and winced.

“Or…” Castiel continued, the dog’s ears perking intently. “Should I pack my bag, get in the car and drive all the way back to work? All in order to get inside an empty shower and  _ maybe  _ meet up with a guy that probably hates my guts at the moment?”

Bark, bark, frantic tail wagging.

Castiel glared at the canine.

“Obnoxious brother, bar, random fuck,” he listed.

Nothing.

“Perverted stranger, company shower, weird shower sex.”

Bark. 

“No.” He stood up straight, resolutely striding back to the sofa. “No way.”

Head tilt.

“No, I’m not doing it.”

Bark, bark.

“ _ No _ ,” Castiel emphasized. “It’s a stupid idea, I’m  _ not  _ going.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\

This was a stupid idea.

It had been almost an hour, and the shower room was still as empty as when he had first stepped inside. The automatically timed lights in the locker room had already gone out after his arrival, leaving the little window in the door glaring darkness at him from across the room.

His skin had begun to furl over his fingertips, and he was convinced that he had never been this clean in his entire life. He should have stayed home, spared himself the trouble, gas money and private humiliation all together. It was ridiculous, what was he even  _ doing _ here? It had to be almost half past nine by now; there was no way  _ anybody  _ would be working this late on a Friday!

Just  _ look _ at him for Christ sake, he was acting like such a sap!

This was  _ such  _ a stupid idea.

Castiel sighed.

He still couldn’t believe he had gotten himself talked into this by a  _ dog _ .

He might as well head back home. Gabriel would surely be happy for the chance to fix him up with the nearest douchebag in town, but even that would be less humiliating than staying— 

The door opened with a loud squeak from the hinges, and Castiel almost jumped out of his skin. He had been waiting for that sound ever since he entered the stall, but when it finally came, it nearly scared the shit out of him.

Someone entered, and then came to an abrupt halt. Castiel knew then that it was the faceless stranger, because the reason said stranger had stopped was most likely to look at Castiel’s towel hanging by the wall.

_ He’ll turn and walk away. Any second now he’ll walk away. _

Footsteps echoed through the room, slower this time, but to Castiel’s relief ( _ panic, panic! _ ) they were not moving away. Instead they came towards him, wary and deliberately quiet. Water was turned on next to him, and Castiel’s heart would surely come crashing through his ribcage any second now, he had no doubt.

Silence settled like a storm cloud in the space between the two stalls, thick and heavy with tension strung tight enough to crack a skull in half. Castiel barely dared to move. There were fine, fine trembles rippling through his body, and his teeth were clattering softly like he was freezing despite the fact that he felt a hundred degrees warm. He heard water splatter and watched steam build, but apart from that there were no signs of activity coming from the other stall.

What if it wasn’t him? Could there possibly be two different people working this late? It struck him that in contrary to the stranger, Castiel hadn’t even thought about checking what the other’s towel looked like. Driven by sudden curiosity, he crept up to the edge of the stall and snuck a quick peek at the hangers by the door.

Flaming orange. And the bastard had the  _ nerve  _ to criticize the look of Castiel’s towel?

Without thinking he snorted out loudly, and the sound of movements stilled from the other side of the tiles.

“Dude, I haven’t  _ done _ anything.”

Castiel’s breath hitched, because yeah, that was the voice. The voice that had haunted his dreams for almost a month now. And it sounded  _ pissed _ .

“I wasn’t—” He cut himself off when hearing the harsh tone coming out of his mouth. What was the  _ matter  _ with him? He’d been standing here, waiting for this guy for an  _ hour _ , and all it took was for the bastard to open his mouth to make Castiel want to snap at him all over again.

“I was just looking at your towel,” he said, willing his voice down to a calmer register. “I like the colour,” he added, holding out the words like a peace offering.

“What, it offends you too now?”

The hesitant smile that had begun to grown on Castiel’s lips got wiped off quicker than it had arrived, and he winced inwardly. This was so not going the way he had hoped for.

“Yeah… about that…”

His stomach knotted tightly as the anxiety slowly began working its way into his head, but he shoved it aside, telling himself to man up. The worst thing that could happen would be him going home in the same state as he had arrived, and that wouldn’t be the end of the world. Though, the thought didn’t sound quite as encouraging as he would have liked it to…

He took a deep breath, watching the water pour down around his feet.

“I wanted to apologize for the things I said to you,” he mumbled, furious at himself for not having the guts to speak up louder. “I was overreacting and… you got caught in the middle of it. I’m sorry.” 

There was a condescending snort.

“You think it’d be that easy? Just say you’re sorry, and everything will be fine?”

“No,” Castiel answered truthfully. “It was more hope than belief I think...”

“You called me a pervert,” the other pointed out.

“I know, and that was—“

“If I’m a pervert, then what the hell does that make you, huh?” the voice interrupted, the tone suddenly cold and dangerous. “As if the things you were doing were somehow less twisted.” 

“I  _ know _ ,” Castiel groaned. ”but I… Damn it, I just— I wasn’t expecting  _ that _ ! You caught me by surprise, okay?”

There was no answer.

“I’m sorry I went out of line, and I swear I’ve been beating myself up about it ever since.” The words were coming out faster as he spoke, wanting to get it all over with so that he could be rejected and go home already. 

“And I understand that you probably want nothing more to do with me,” he added hurriedly “but I figured that… perhaps you’d— If we both agree to be adults about this, maybe we could still… I don’t know… talk?”

He mentally bitch slapped himself.

What the hell was  _ that _ ? That was not the speech he had prepared inside his head—that was rubbish!  _ ‘Talk’ _ . Way to go with that one, really. How the fuck was he supposed to do this if he couldn’t even come up with a better synonym for what he wanted them to do than  _ ‘talk’ _ ?!

Holding his breath, he waited, but there was no response. Just the noise of running water. 

This was so stupid, why did he have to go and make such a fool of himself? He could have stayed home, he could have gone out, but no, he had to come here, put his pride at stake and just lay it all out there like a freaking— 

“Talk?” the voice said, as if tasting the word, ripping Castiel out of his mental downfall. The tone was a mix between intrigued, offended, and amused, all at the same time, but Cas couldn’t tell which one had the upper hand. Damnit, this was hard when there were no facial expressions to go with it.

“Yes.” He swallowed hard. “I mean… if you want to?”

“You want to  _ talk _ ?” the other repeated, voice unreadable.

“Yes.”

“With  _ me _ ?” he emphasized, and Castiel wanted to roll his eyes to the ceiling. How thick could you be?

“ _ Yes _ .”

Castiel could have counted the heartbeats ringing through his head in the silence that followed.

“Alright...” came the answer, after what felt like ages. “I guess there’s no harm in just talking…”

Castiel’s chest finally released its stranglehold around his lungs. He heard the other move, and then the click of a bottle cap was heard. Castiel was sure he had never heard such a suggestive sound in his life.

“So… this talk…” the stranger said slowly, the water sloshing as he rubbed what Castiel assumed to be soap over himself. “Got any specific subject you want to discuss?”

Castiel had to hold back another snort, because of course there was, but how did one bring that up during casual conversation?

“I don’t know.” He leaned heavily against the tiles, back facing the stranger’s stall with water pouring down over the front of his body. “I guess I just enjoy hearing your voice…” he managed.

“Is that so?” 

Castiel scowled. Was that a smile he heard, or was it something else?

“You have a… way with words that fascinates me,” he confessed, and this time there was a definite snicker from the other side.

“Wow, and here I was thinking you disliked me.”

“I do,” Castiel said before he could stop himself. 

“But you don’t have to like me to fuck around with me inside your head, is that it?”

“That’s a harsh way to put it…” Castiel muttered, not sure if the other was mocking or humoring him.

“Hey, don’t get me wrong. I like a good time just like the next guy,” the stranger said in defence. “I just want to know if I’m going to get sued for sexual harassment if you lose your temper again. You gave me quite an earful last time,” he scolded.

“No lawyers,” Castiel promised, his lip curling into a smile. ”And no screaming,” he added.

“I’d say that depends on the screaming.”

The suggestive purr of the other’s response caused a searing shiver to rush up Castiel’s spine, making his breath hitch. There was an answering sigh from the stranger, along with a light thud that notified Cas that the other was now also leaning against the wall separating them. The thought of having the other man unknowingly mimicking his own posture sent heat flaring in Castiel’s gut.

“You’re a determined guy, I can tell,” the other said out of nowhere. “The kind that sees something he wants, and then just goes for it.”

“I don’t know about that,” Castiel grimaced. If there was a description of him that would never be accurate, that one would be it.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” 

Castiel opened his mouth, but without waiting for an answer the stranger continued: “It’s in your voice, you know. That low rumble you get when you’re pissed off… Shit, there’s authority in there. Real heavy stuff.”

The stranger sighed again, almost dreamingly. “I’d love to know what that voice of yours sounds like when you rub one off…” 

Castiel’s hand instantly shot up to grip tightly around the right side of his neck, mouth falling open as goosebumps rippled all over his body. The shocked silence gave the stranger time to continue, voice dropped low and drowsy.

“I wonder if you’re the quiet type… or if those noises you made that time really were an attempt to hold it all in…”

Castiel swallowed hard, closing his eyes.

“I-I suppose…”

“Hm?”

“I suppose… I could arrange for you to find out. If you’d like…?” 

There was a brief silence, and then he heard that low chuckle again, only darker this time. His mind immediately went to the thought of a predator; a big jungle cat slowly circling its prey with a feral, calculating glimmer in its eyes, and the fingers against his skin gripped harder, almost bruising him.

“Mhm… That would only be fair,” the other agreed. ”You’ve heard me twice already, and the only thing I’ve gotten out of you is a stifled moan and a bag of insults. I’d say you owe me…”

“Sounds about right…” Castiel actually nodded, even though he knew damn well that the other could not see him. 

Shit, this was really happening. They were actually doing this.

“So… Go ahead…” the man drawled. “Tell me about yourself. Tell me what turns you on… The things you like...”

“You want  _ me _ to talk?” Castiel threw a horrified look at the tiles over his shoulder.

“Or better yet…” the stranger suddenly changed his mind, voice lowering to a purr. “How about you tell me what you think about when you touch yourself?”

A furious blush spread over Castiel’s cheeks at the words, his heart fluttering nervously inside his chest. This guy actually wanted him to do the talking this time?  _ Him _ , the awkward guy who’d rather bite his own tongue off than say something even remotely related to the word ‘fuck’ to anyone but his own brother? 

The thought was… unnerving, almost frightening. It wasn’t that he had any problems  _ thinking _ about sex—he had a very vivid imagination, believe it or not—but to say those things that went through his head out loud…? 

“I’m not sure if I know how to do that,” he tried. “I’m not very… charismatic…”

“You’ll get the hang of it soon enough,” the stranger assured him. “Just take it from the top, like, where are you? What are you wearing? Tell me where your hands are on your body…”

Castiel’s hands were visibly trembling now, and his heart was beating a furious staccato against his ribcage. There was a little voice chattering along inside his head; the part of him that was still trying to convince him to be good boy. To never do anything indecent or out of line, to be  _ normal _ .

It only took him a brief moment of guilt and hesitation before he resolutely shoved it away. Right now, right here, at this precise moment, he really, really,  _ really _ did not want to be a good boy.

He swallowed hard, and thought back to the evening before, a night just like any other he’d spent on Gabriel’s sofa. The way things had started; what he had done first.

“Well… I suppose I’m lying on the couch,” he said hesitantly. “I’m wearing boxers and a t-shirt…”

“The dark ones?” the voice interrupted, an amused little smile playing in there somewhere. 

“Yes, I… Uh…” Castiel momentarily lost the thread, and he willed his eyes shut in order to catch it again. “I’m… My left hand is on my chest and the other is resting on my hip.”

The stranger made an appreciative sound and Castiel cleared his throat, mouth remarkably dry.

“Is that good?” he asked nervously, and that low hum was heard again.

“Mm, it’s a start. What are you doing? Tell me what you’re thinking about…”

Castiel rubbed his hand over the tendons in his neck with little, slow circles in a valiant attempt to make himself relax. 

“I’m… I’m thinking about you,” he admitted. “About the things you said about me when you were—” He cut himself off, taking a deep breath. Heat was pulsing through him, his erection already standing tall and proud between his legs. 

Jesus, it was insane how much this was affecting him. He’d always thought talking during sex was a stupid and embarrassing thing to do, he had never understood why so many seemed to think it was necessary, but this was different. Doing this with  _ him  _ was different…

“What am I saying?” The other sounded a little breathless as he spoke, and Castiel shuddered anew. ”Touch yourself and tell me what I’m saying I’d do to you.”

“You’re saying…” Castiel’s breath hitched when he obediently gripped around himself, and his tongue came out to moisten his lips. “You’re saying that you’d like to suck me off. That you’d like to… replace my hand with your mouth…”  

“Yeah, that sounds like fun...” the voice agreed. “Do you imagine that when you touch yourself? That it’s my lips and my tongue that gets you off instead of your hand?”

“Yes…” Castiel’s hand was moving on its own between his legs now, pumping slowly and he didn’t even have to twist his wrist in order to achieve that jolting sensation that always made him go all weak in the knees. Water was running hot over his body, and it was so easy to imagine that the trickling streams were fingers, and that the heat around his cock was a mouth; the stroke of his thumb a tongue and that the soft pressure was in fact lips moving up and down over his length. The stranger let out a groan, as if he could see the images in Castiel’s head and liked them.

“How does it feel?” he urged “C’mon tell me, I want to hear it...”

“It f—feels… wet. Slippery and warm.”

“Yeah... I’m sucking you real good, aren’t I?” The stranger sounded pleased, voice lowered to a seductive whisper. “You like having my lips all over your cock?” he breathed, and Castiel nodded again.

“Yes… Yes it’s… it feels good…”

“Fuck…” 

More noises drifted to Castiel’s ear, slickened sounds of a second fist pumping, and oh, that just made it so much better—so much more intense—hearing that. 

“Keep talking,” the other pleaded. “Christ, your voice is fucking amazing…” A hoarse groan made Castiel’s entire body twitch “Tell me more, I wanna hear you…”

Castiel moaned; he couldn’t stop himself. There was just so much power in this, knowing that what he said had such an effect on the other man. That just the sound of his voice had the ability to disarm the stranger so completely that he was begging him for more.

“I—I…. I’m having my hands in your hair,” he stuttered, growing bolder and moving his other hand up through his own wet strands of dark brown, seeing the vision of them fisting amongst the unruly wisps he imagined moving between his thighs. “I’m tugging at it… moving with you while you… Oh…”

“Mm, you’re doing great,” the other panted. “Tell me more… Tell me how you pull my hair. You like that, don’t you? What if I had been in there right now with your cock in my mouth? Would you’ve pulled at it then to?”

“Yes,” Castiel gulped. “I’d pull it… Make you go faster…”

“What else?” the stranger demanded breathlessly. “What else would you do to me?”

“I would… I would…” Castiel’s pulse was ringing in his ears, distracting, and his mouth was running on autopilot; he had no control over the words coming out of it anymore. Everything was just heat, and pleasure, and an overwhelming sense of being lifted out of his own mind.

“C’mon, just say it,” the other moaned. “You know I want to hear it… Say it, tell me…”

“I would… hold you down…” Castiel panted. “I’d fuck your mouth so hard….”

The noise that erupted from the other side of the wall sounded like the growl from a wounded animal.

“Sweet Jesus…!”

“Did I say something wrong?” Castiel’s hand stilled for a moment as he snapped back into himself, terrified that he had gone over the top and somehow managed to ruin the mood.

“No! Fuck, no, I liked it… Always knew you were a kinky bastard…” Castiel relaxed when he heard the grin in the other’s voice. 

“Just keep going…” the stranger begged. “Fuck, I need to hear you come so fucking bad right now… Sucking your dick, getting it all wet for you…”

Castiel moaned again, his hand picking up speed, fisting himself fast and rough as the stranger’s panted breaths grew ragged and greedy.

“Ah shit, do that again,” the stranger whimpered. “Moan for me, c’mon…”

How could Castiel possibly deny such a request? For the first time in months he was able to let go. No need for muffled moans or panting breaths in fear of detection; he was here, finally, and it was like a dam breaking. He tilted his head back, and the noise he made must have contained that rumble the other had spoken about earlier, because there was an immediate response from the other stall in the shape of another groan.

“Oh, yeah…” the other moaned. “Just like that. Keep going, come for me… Gonna swallow you down, let you shoot down my throat… So hungry for you…”

Castiel’s entire body was shaking, his head turning from side to side as he bit down on his lower lip, stifling a whimper. He was burning up; the fire in his body slowly killing him, burning him to ashes while sparks ignited behind his closed eyelids. Every flare of need was a thousand times stronger and brighter than anything he had ever experienced, and he  _ needed _ , needed so  _ badly… _

He heard the wet slap of skin on skin coming from behind him, and even the slightest breath from the other had every hair on his entire body rising in wild attention. He was so wrapped up in the noises coming from the other man that he barely noticed that he had gone quiet himself, too busy listening. His partner however, had not, and the other suddenly let out a noise mixed between a hiss and a whimper that made Castiel’s stomach clench.

“Shit, man, don’t hold out on me…!” 

Castiel’s head rolled in what could have been a spasm or a nod, mouth falling open once more as his lungs gulped down air and punched out noises he didn’t even know he had been capable of. His head was spinning, the muscles in his abs twitching, and this was it; he could feel the euphoria beginning to pool hot and heavy in his gut, licking sinfully good swipes of fire up his spine.

“I’m not—” he began, but this time he didn’t have enough coherency left to hold back the whimper that fled his mouth. “I-I’m not going to last… I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, you just give it to me...” The other groaned, breathless,  _ eager _ . “I’ll swallow it all for you…Lick you clean with my tongue all over your co— Oh, shit… Oh, you better be fucking coming right now, I can’t— Oh God, say something, say something, I need—”

But Castiel had no words. His head tipped back against the tiles, and he screamed out his climax to the ceiling with a cry that must have originated from the most primal corner of his body, his voice breaking into a hoarse whine when his air ran out. He heard the other breathe out something that sounded like ‘oh fuck’ before a throaty groan echoed through the room, followed by harsh panting and desperate gasps for air.

Castiel’s legs gave out underneath him, and he slid to the floor with an ungracious thud, eyes screwed shut. His head felt both blissfully blown from his orgasm, yet painfully aching from where it had hit the ceramic tiles, but he didn’t care. He simply laid there, shivering in the rush of water from above; muscles drawing tight in spasms from the afterglow while his breath clawed its way up and down his throat. The stickiness on his fingers was slowly settling into a thin layer over his skin, and he absentmindedly rubbed the hand against the floor in an attempt to make it go away.

“Holy shit…”

The groan from the other side of the wall gently pulled him back to reality, but he kept his eyes closed, enjoying the sound of the other’s voice through the darkness.

“Bet you weren’t expecting that, huh?” Castiel rasped and the other laughed.

“It was more hope than expectation really.” 

Castiel straightened up when hearing the alteration of his own words leave the stranger’s mouth.

“Hoping?” he asked quietly. 

“Sort of.” Castiel could hear the shrug in the other’s voice. “Like I said, I enjoy a good time like any other… and your voice is kind of addictive.”

“You only heard me talk once,” Castiel pointed out.

“Again, dude;  _ addictive _ .” The stranger silenced for a moment. “You’re on the floor right now, aren’t you?”

“Guilty,” Castiel sighed contently. He didn’t have the energy to deny anything at this point, and the other snickered.

“That must have been one hell of a rush. I think you almost cracked a few windows somewhere with that one.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Castiel huffed.

“Don’t sound so disappointed. You can give the windows a new go next time.”

That sentence had Castiel’s eyes snapping open so fast the whiteness of the interior around him had him momentarily blinded.

“Next time?” he asked, one part of him confused, but an even bigger part of him stirring with excitement from the insinuation those two words carried.

“Hey, if you think I’m letting those vocal chords of yours go now, then you’re out of your goddamn head. As long as you’re game of course; non consensual gig’s never been my cup of tea.” 

“I appreciate that,” Castiel said dryly, and the other laughed.

“So…” he said “this is gonna sound like the worst pickup line in history, but do you come here often?”

Castiel chuckled quietly. 

“Not really. If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t be here at all.”

“My, I’m flattered.”

“You should be,” Castiel snorted before he softened his voice. “What about you? Most people I know won’t work this late unless they’re forced.”

“Well, what can I say, I need the money. I work better alone anyway, so it’s just as good.”

“You mean you always work this late?” Castiel’s brows shot up with surprise.

“Not  _ this _ late, jeez….” The stranger actually sounded horrified at the thought. “But I do stay behind almost every day, for an hour or so.”

“I’m impressed.” Castiel really was. “If I did that I’d collapse within a week,” he added.

“Oh yeah, what kind of strenuous work do you do then?”

Castiel’s stomach tightened almost painfully, and the good mood he had beginning to work up fell down to zero.

“Could you do me a favour?” he asked, leaning his head back against the wall.

“What?” 

“Could we… Would it be possible for us to leave things like our names and careers out of this? It’s nothing personal,” he added, because the other man suddenly felt abnormally quiet. “But I could get in a lot of trouble if the rumour got around.”

“Why, you’re married or something?” The other sounded suspicious, but the thing that made it even worse was the hint of acceptance in his voice, like he had already struggled with the thought and that Castiel was just about to hit him with the final blow.

“No!” Castiel objected, horrified. “God, no…” He hesitated, knowing that what he was about to ask would break the very rule he had suggested just seconds ago, but it was only fair that he got to know. “What about you?” he asked eventually.

“Free as a bird.”

“Good, that’s… good.”

Castiel bit his lip, worrying the skin there with his teeth. There was something else he wanted to know as well. He wouldn’t be able to go home without knowing…

“So have you ever… Like, does anyone else ever work as late as you do?” he asked, trying to find a way to approach the question without making it sound like an accusation.

“It happens.”

“Do they shower too?”

“Getting jealous already?” the other smirked, but when Castiel didn’t answer he continued: “If the real question is if I’ve ever done this here with anyone else, then no, you’re the first. I don’t usually jerk off in front of an audience.”

“You don’t seem to mind, though,” Castiel said pointedly.

“Honestly?” The stranger chuckled. “At first I did that just to screw with you. I thought you’d bolt straight out of here once you figured out what I was doing, but… you never did. And then I heard you make those sounds, and what can I say…? I got hooked on the thought of me turning you on. Too bad you freaked out the second time around. Must say I wasn’t expecting that.”

Castiel had probably never felt so sheepish or giddy in his entire life. The stranger had gotten hooked? On  _ his _ voice? That must have been both the strangest and best compliment he had been given during his entire life. 

“Oh…” he said, trying to make it sound apologetic, but didn’t quite succeed all the way. The other must have heard him, because there was a huffed laugh heard from the other side.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

The water was still running in both of their showers, but from what Castiel could tell, none of them had moved from their respective spots in several minutes, as if neither of them wished to leave quite yet, or knew how to.

“I was thinking…” the voice said suddenly. “Since I can’t know your name, what should I call you?”

Castiel scowled.

“I really haven’t thought that far,” he admitted.

“You got no nicknames? A favourite movie? A song? Something about you that stands out?”

“Well… People always tell me that I have very special eyes.” It was a stupid example, but at the moment his brain didn’t seem to be willing to cooperate with him just yet to think of something better.

“Special can mean a lot of things, man.” The other didn’t sound too enthusiastic about the description and Castiel could imagine the visions that must be going through the other’s head; that he’d be skew-eyed or… worse.

“They tell me they’re blue,” he clarified. “Like…  _ really _ blue.”

“Blue Eyes, huh?” There was a short silence, as if the other was thinking it over. “I can work with that.”

“It’s not a very good nickname though…” Castiel apologized. “I’ve never had any nicknames that weren’t based on my name, but I can think of something better if you’d like.”

“Nah, Blue Eyes is good. I like it. Though it’s going to be hard to fit it in with all the dirty talk,” he added, grinning widely from the sound of it. 

“You don’t have to say it while we… When we do that.” Castiel offered, voice lowering as he spoke.

“You’re a real big prude, aren’t you?” the other laughed.

“What do you mean?” Castiel frowned.

“C’mon, just put it out there;  _ ’when we jerk each other off inside our heads’ _ , say it.”

Castiel’s face went from normal to beet read in 0.2 seconds.

“You’re being stupid,” he gruffed.

“ _ ’When we get off on listening to the other fist his swollen dick,’ _ ” the stranger recited proudly.

“Would you  _ stop _ ?”

“Are you blushing?” the stranger asked sweetly.

“No,” Castiel denied, perhaps a bit too quickly considering that both his cheeks were hot and flushing furiously.

“You’re  _ so  _ blushing,” the stranger argued confidently. “But don’t worry, I’ll find a way to loosen that innocent little tongue of yours. I’m sure it will prove to be a natural once you get it going…” If there ever was such a thing as a verbal, wiggling eyebrow, that last part there was it.

“You’re a jerk,” Castiel sulked.

“Thank you, I’ve been practicing.”

“I think I’m going to call you that; ‘Jerk’.” Cas announced. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“Aw, c’mon, you couldn’t have given me something else?” the stranger complained. “Something that describes what a masculine stud I am?” 

“You just spent fifteen minutes describing how to suck another man’s dick.”

“In a very  _ masculine _ way,” the stranger defended himself.

Castiel sighed. He wasn’t good at naming things, but he assumed that since he was the one who wanted to keep their identities a secret, it was only fair that he came up with the alternatives.

“How about…” His mind drifted back to the orange towel, and he turned his head a bit to the left, just enough to have the glaring fabric skirt the edge of his vision. “Tiger?” he suggested.

“Tiger?” the other seemed to frown at the thought. “That sounds like a cheap porno flick.”

“I could always go back to Jerk if you want?” Castiel offered sweetly.

“Fine, whatever. I’ll be the tiger and you can be the little blue eyed, virgin angel.”

“Just because I don’t like  _ talking  _ about what I do in bed, doesn’t mean I don’t know how it’s  _ done _ .” Castiel pointed out, feeling slightly offended. So maybe he hadn’t dated in a while, but that didn’t automatically render him a virgin.

“Watch it, or I might have you prove that someday.” The warning came with the same suggestive tone that had flowed throughout the whole conversation.

“You’d wish,” Castiel snorted, and to that they both fell silent once more. 

Castiel’s ass was beginning to ache; the floor wasn’t exactly a comfortable place to be at, and he stood up with a loud protest from his back as the vertebras popped back into place.

“So…” The voice on the other side hesitated. “I suppose this means I won’t get to see what you look like anytime soon, huh?” He almost sounded disappointed, as if the meaning of their earlier agreement had just become clear to him.

“I guess not…” Castiel mumbled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry.” The disappointment was gone from his voice so quickly Castiel became doubtful to the fact that it had ever been there. “Besides, not knowing is kind of exciting.”

“Yeah… I guess it is.”

There was a clinking sound from the other side when the stranger’s shower was turned off, and Castiel felt panic rise, because they still hadn’t said anything about when the previously mentioned ‘next time’ would occur. 

“Wait.”

The movements stilled on the other side of the tiles.

“When… when are we doing this again?” He did not want it to sound like a line from a poorly written drama play, but his voice didn’t obey him.

“You want to make an  _ appointment _ ?” the other said, sounding both surprised and a bit put off at the same time. Castiel didn’t blame him, it did sound rather desperate.

“It’s just that I can’t stay behind this late every day,” he explained. “And I have other stuff I need to do. If we’re going to continue this then I must know when it’s going to happen.”

The stranger pondered this for a moment.

“I  _ was _ having plans on staying late next Friday as well… To about eight,” he said eventually.

“Is that a routine of yours?” Castiel asked.

“It could become one.”

“Oh…” Castiel’s stomach made an excited little twirl. “I think I’d like that.”

“I figured as much.”

There were light footsteps heard walking across the floor, followed by the low rustle of a towel.

“So, I guess I’ll see you Friday then?” the other said and then added with a smirk: “Or something like that…” 

Castiel smiled, the use of the word ‘see’ in this case obviously not being a very accurate description.

“Yeah…” the corner of his mouth slowly curled into a smile. “See you Friday.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment if you liked it ^^
> 
> Until next Thursday, my darlings <3


	4. 4

Saturday dawned with a sky crowned in crimson. The warm rays trickled through the blinds and down onto the bundle of sheets on Gabriel’s sofa, shining on a ruffle of dark wisps that peeked out from underneath the covers. A sleepy groan was emitted as the pile of fabric twisted to reveal a very rumpled Castiel, blinking like an owl against the blinding light falling on his face.

At first, he tried to block the offending brightness out with a cushion, but the damn thing just kept falling over, eventually forcing him to surrender and turn around, his back facing the source of his annoyance. He had barely been given the time to fall back into a light slumber when the front door suddenly burst open and Gabriel came swaggering in. He was carrying one paper bag from the bagel shop down the street in one hand, and two cups of something steamy and smelling suspiciously like freshly brewed coffee balancing in the other.  

“Honey, I’m home!”

Castiel answered by grumbling something incoherent into his other pillow, rolling over once more; at the moment more compelled to face the glowering sun outside than his beaming brother, who was currently kicking the door closed with a bang behind him, complete with an elegant spin of his ankle.

“Rise and shine, sleepy-cakes!”

Castiel groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“There’s no such thing as a sleepy cake, Gabriel…”

“Of course there is; how else would I be able to call you one?” Gabriel’s face broke into a grin “Why, you don’t like it?” 

“Not particularly…”

Gabriel didn’t seem to mind his brother’s unenthusiastic tone, and instead he proceeded to clear the coffee table with his foot, sending both Castiel’s book and a few other scattered items plummeting to the floor. He dropped the bag and the two cups of beverage onto the cleared surface and flopped himself down onto the couch, managing to crush both of Castiel’s feet and legs underneath him in the process. 

“Hey, scoot, will ya?”

Castiel pulled his legs out from underneath the other man, giving Gabriel a shallow kick to the hip before dragging himself up into a sitting position, scratching at his shoulder through his light grey t-shirt.

“I hate you,” he muttered, and Gabriel tsk’d at him.

“Now, is that really a proper way to greet someone who comes bearing the gift of breakfast?”

He dug open the brown paper bag and pulled out a bagel wrapped in a napkin marked with an ’X’.

“Tuna, avocados, tomatoes and brie. Extra pepper, no onion.”

He handed Castiel the food. Castiel graciously accepted it, stifling a yawn behind his other hand.

“Thanks,” he rasped, reaching for the matching cup marked with another ‘X’, which he knew contained black coffee. The other was Gabriel’s and was probably filled with something more related to a coffee-milkshake rather than anything else, considering how much cream and sugar his brother liked to put in it. How Gabriel ever managed to stay fit throughout his high carb-diet, he’d never know.

“That’s more like it,” Gabriel commended and bit into his own bagel—Turkey Chili Cheese Salsa today, judging by the looks of it—and hummed contently.

“I don’t care how popular those other franchises are,  _ nothing _ beats Chuck’s Bagels,” he stated firmly, licking off some salsa that threatened to spill over the edge of the bread in his hand.

“They are very good,” Castiel agreed loyally.

Gabriel let out a smacking sound which Castiel’s head automatically translated into “damn right!”

Bingo came pawing across the linoleum floor, claws pattering against the surface, and sat down next to the couch, watching them both attentively with bright, pleading eyes. Gabriel swallowed down his mouthful of turkey and waved a reprimanding finger at him.

“Nu-uh buddy, treats are in the kitchen, you know that.”

Bingo wagged his tail a few times, but when Gabriel didn’t falter he turned and went back to his bed, throwing himself down upon it with a dramatic sigh.

“It’s a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” Castiel pointed out. “After all, you snack wherever and whenever you feel like it.”

“Yeah, but I pay for the stuff I snack,” Gabe gruffed and Castiel smiled. In fact, he knew very well the reason to how the paragraph of ‘dog vs snacks’ had become the number one rule in the household, and that reason was best described with the phrase ‘like owner, like pet’. 

Gabriel loved snacks, and sweets, and candy, and pastries, and everything else that could contribute to the task of clogging up his arteries, and it just so happened that he had managed to acquire a dog with the very same unhealthy preferences. Before, Bingo had been allowed his treats anywhere in the house—a slice of pizza here, a piece of a muffin there—however, when the little terrier began stealing food straight off the coffee table, things had changed dramatically. 

Castiel knew from experience that Gabriel was very possessive about the things he ate, especially if they involved sugar, and he had to say; Bingo might be small, but the courage the dog possessed surely made up for whatever it lacked in size. So now the rules were simple; dogs ate in the kitchen, and nowhere else. Period.

“I promise, the moment he gets a job and starts earning his own money, I’ll be happy to let him snack wherever he wants,” Gabriel mouthed around his breakfast. Castiel snorted.

“Hardly a fair argument, don’t you think?”

“What? That’s the speech I got as a kid, this is no different.”

“Except he’s a  _ dog _ ,” Castiel pointed out.

“That doesn’t change a thing.” Gabriel looked at Bingo. “You hear that? Think of Lassie. Rin-Tin-Tin. Hell, think of Pluto. You could be  _ great  _ if only you put some effort into it!”

In response, Bingo decided to yawn his owner right in the face.

“See what I mean?” Gabriel pointed his thumb to the canine. “No ambition whatsoever.”

Castiel just shook his head, returning his concentration to the food at hand. Gabriel’s eyes lingered on him, gleaming with mischief, which was a tell-tale sign that he was in a good mood. The glee was almost like a physical aura around him. 

“I take it from your mood that last night was a success then?” Castiel asked and his brother’s eyebrow crooked suggestively.

“I returned with breakfast, did I not?”

“You did.”

“Then success it is.”

“I thought the breakfast part was usually offered to whomever you had spent the night  _ with _ ?” Castiel smiled, and Gabriel settled back with an indignant frown.

“There’s nothing wrong with having breakfast twice,” he huffed, and Castiel rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“Only Hobbits have more than one breakfast.”

“I could be half-Hobbit,” Gabriel defended.

“No, you could not,” Castiel retorted firmly. “Hobbits separate their meals from one another; with you there’s just a constant continuum of  _ chewing _ .”

For once, Gabriel didn’t seem to have a good comeback. Instead he took another large bite out of his bagel, strings of cheese spanning over and dangling in between the distance of his mouth and his food in a defiant pout.

“So, what did you get up to while I was out?” he asked, once he had managed to suckle all the threads of cheese into his mouth with what Castiel considered to be an unhealthy amount of tongue whirling. “Watched boring TV? Read a boring book? Had  _ boring _ tea with the  _ boring _ old lady next door while being  _ bored _ ?” 

The condescending tone was a typical defence mechanism from Gabriel–if you couldn’t come up with a good sarcastic comment to throw back in your conversation partner’s face; find something else to harass them about until you did. It was all very juvenile and predictable, but Castiel was used to it by now.

“I was not bored,” he stated calmly. A quick flash of heat went through him at the memory of splattering water and husky voices, but he shoved it away. “I found a solution to a problem that’s been distracting me at work,” he continued, nonchalantly sipping at his coffee, knowing that his unruffled demeanor would only tick his brother off even more. “In fact; not going out with you turned out to be a very good decision,” he added calmly.

“Well, I’m happy for you,” Gabriel huffed , rolling his eyes. “Let me know when you propose to your office so I can start working on my best man speech.”

“What makes you think  _ you’ll _ be best man?” Castiel countered, and Gabriel snorted.

“Because face it; it’s either me, or Chuck down the street, and Chuck will be busy catering.”

“I’m not having bagels on my wedding, Gabe.” Castiel grimaced at the thought.

“Why not?!” his brother objected loudly. “They’re just as good as any fancy dinner, plus it’s cheaper. It could be the midnight snack, c’mon.”

Castiel put his cup down and gave Gabriel a regarding look.

“Remind me again why you’re suddenly planning my wedding?”

“ _ Because _ you’re a hopeless workaholic, and if I don’t do it, no one will.”

Castiel let out a quiet laugh, something Gabriel must have taken as a victory because he settled back against the couch, lacing his hands behind his head while closing his eyes and smiling widely, licking his mouth.

“No,” Castiel immediately deadpanned, and Gabriel opened his eyes again and threw his hands out in a defensive gesture.

“What? You don’t even know what I was thin—”

“There’s not going to be a chocolate fountain,” Castiel interrupted, and Gabriel’s lips narrowed down into a thin line. Those hazel eyes glared at him for a few seconds before something gleamed deep down and Gabe opened his mouth to speak.

“And no Twinkies,” Cas added warningly, to which Gabriel’s mouth instantly curled into a sly grin.

“Which kind are you talking about?” he asked sweetly. “Because I was thinking maybe for your stag party—”

“No!”

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The days dragged along with the velocity of a snail on Prozac. When Friday finally arrived, Castiel found himself watching the clock above his office door more than he watched the screen of his computer; dividing the day into sections, hours, quarters, minutes, and then finally, finally seconds.

When he closed his laptop and turned off the lights in his office at a quarter to eight, the rest of the building was already dark and quiet. He had his stuff packed in a bag by his desk so he didn’t need to go out to the car to collect them, saving him time. 

The walk through the long corridors made his stomach knot, both from excitement and fear of accidentally being discovered. Should ‘Tiger’ see him come this way at this hour, today, there would be no way for him not to understand who he was.

Luckily he didn’t see anyone, and the locker rooms were empty as usual. Castiel quickly undressed, and then took place in the shower stall, using the same as he had last time while his blue towel hung silently from the hanger by the wall. He was already semi-hard and the anticipation was killing him. It bothered him to no end that there were no clocks in the shower room; he had no idea if he had stood there waiting for a minute or an hour when he finally heard the slam of a locker door reverberate from the other room.

Minutes later, there was a wince of hinges as someone stuck their head in through the door.

“Hey, Blue. You in here?”

Castiel’s stomach flipped, and he closed his eyes with a relieved sigh, feeling an unexpected wide smile creep across his face.

“Yes,” he answered, and Tiger gave a satisfied little chuckle.

“Sweet…”

Footsteps padded over the floor as the mystery man took place in the stall next to Castiel’s, turning the water on.

“What time is it?” Castiel asked, more to say something than really wanting to know. Time didn’t matter now, not anymore.

“Two minutes past eight.” The other’s voice sank into a low purr. “Why, you’ve got somewhere else you need to be?”

Castiel shivered. It took all he had to keep his hands away from his groin when his suddenly full on hardness twitched in response.

“Not very likely...” he murmured, and on the other side Tiger chuckled again.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

“… so as you can see, we have to take action  _ now _ , before it’s too late.”

Zachariah’s nasal voice made Castiel want to rip his own ears off. It had been almost three goddamn hours, and they were still not getting anywhere, simply because that babbling ass wanted his ego stroked. The light of yet another one of his endless PowerPoint presentations was currently being projected upon the white wall behind him, Zachariah’s silhouette and beady eyes being the only thing visible in the dusk. It would have looked almost scary had Castiel not loathed the man so much...

“This corporation needs reformation!” the balding man continued, gesturing wildly like a football captain at a pep rally. ”The figures are clear, something needs to be done, or we’ll lose millions!”

The people around the table watched him in silence; a few nodding in agreement, others with their eyes firmly set on the tabletop in front of them while their hands absentmindedly plucked with papers and folders. The mood was tense. This was the third cut-back meeting in less than two months, and there were quite a few of the board members that were beginning to worry. 

If they lowered the salaries further, the people on the floor would not be happy, and they would end up losing more workers than they could afford–workers which they  _ needed _ . The somewhat shocking solution Zachariah had proposed at that was that they were not to lower the pay grade this time, but actually fire people considered to be expendable instead. 

It was a drastic suggestion, even when coming from Zachariah, but no one dared to say anything about it. Castiel was no better, he knew that, but it didn’t do much to ease his aggravation. Zachariah was an Ass, but at the moment that Ass was planted in a Big Chair, and if Castiel wanted to keep his job, he also had to make sure to keep his mouth shut.

“So!” Zachariah rubbed his hands together, not even bothering to hide how pleased he was that no one argued with him. “We have gone over the details, so in case anyone else doesn’t have anything to add, I’d like to—”

“May I just interject something?”

Zachariah stilled, his mask of corporate politeness faltering when a voice interrupted him in his closing speech. He turned slowly, cold eyes locking onto the board member who had dared to open his mouth.

“Yes, Joshua?” he asked politely, the tone laced with the finest layer of ‘shut the fuck up’ a human voice could possibly muster.

Mr. Gardner straightened up in his seat. He was one of the senior executives, had a thin, black moustache that had just begun to turn grey, accenting the dark tone of his skin. The reading glasses he wore would have looked feminine on anyone else, but on him they basically pulsed out authority, giving his deep brown eyes an extra edge. If anyone at this table had the chance to take on a fight with Zachariah, then Joshua was the man to do it. Castiel watched intently as the two sent evaluating looks at each other, sizing up the potential threat, looking for weaknesses while maintaining warm, polite smiles that never reached their eyes.

“I understand that there has been a shortage of profit lately,” Joshua began, talking very slowly, surely because he knew that it would annoy the hell out of Zachariah if he dragged out his interruption. “However, I cannot help but think that perhaps, instead of resorting to yet another cut back, wouldn’t it be better if we found out the reason to the increased shortage of resources and placed our efforts there instead?”

Castiel’s eyes turned to Zachariah as the focus of the entire table suddenly fell on the balding man. He could see how the other’s jaw set and how his posture suddenly went rigid. Not much, but enough that someone like Castiel who watched more than he talked would notice. It was evident that this was a conversation the suit clad man did not want to engage in. The transformation only lasted a second though, and then that gleaming row of teeth was back, smiling fondly at Joshua; like a shark grinning at a surfer.

“Of course, that would be ideal,” he agreed graciously. “However, launching such an immense investigation during this time would not only cost the company more money, but it would take a very long time. Even if we  _ did  _ find the reason why things have gone wrong we would lose far too much money and efficiency in the process.”

An appreciative mumble was heard from the others and Zachariah’s smile widened. Joshua’s smile however, did not. 

“When standing in a sinking boat, wouldn’t it be more efficient to plug the leak before you waste all your energy trying to scoop the water out?” he countered. This time the mumble around the table got louder, some in agreement, some in objection, but at least there was a discussion brewing; like a fine shift in the air.

Castiel’s ears perked, and he sat up a little taller. Was it possible that he had found an ally in this matter? It was highly unexpected, but none the less welcomed. If Joshua was willing to go against Zachariah’s leading-string then perhaps the other board members would at least consider the same action? His hope didn’t last long, however, because then Zachariah opened his mouth again, and that cleft tongue of his went from spewing reason to weaving silver threats in the air.

“Of course it would,” he agreed, grinning. “But the more people in the boat, the faster it will sink. If we had more time I would gladly do what you suggest, but we don’t. Unless of course _ you _ could take it upon yourself to find a few people who would willingly abandon ship for the greater good?”

Joshua’s lips narrowed into a thin, furious line, eyes glaring dark.

“Or perhaps you already have someone in mind?” Zachariah asked sweetly, the point behind the words evidently clear.

The entire table held its breath as tension sparked through the air between the two men. This was it, the big showdown; every single person in the room knew that what happened next could shift the power balance of the entire company. 

Castiel desperately wished he could have sent Joshua a sign, something to let him know that he was not alone in this, but Joshua never looked his way. Instead his shoulders slowly lost their defensive stance the longer he was forced to hold Zachariah’s gaze, and the thunderstorm that had been about to break out over the table scattered and faded into nothing.

“Not at the moment,” he bit out, and Zachariah frowned in mock disappointment.

“What a shame. I was hoping that maybe you had solved the problem for us.” He looked out over the table and Castiel had to fight the confusing urge of glaring and cowering at the same time.

“Anyone else?”

There was not a sound heard and Zachariah shone up like a model for a dentist commercial.

“Alright then. All in favour?”

/\/\/\/\/\/\

“I still don’t see why we have to change anything. Why can’t we do it like we always do?”

Castiel was not sure if he agreed with the other man’s idea. Not that the suggestion scared him or anything, but he just didn’t see the  _ point _ .

“ _ Because _ it’s the way we  _ always _ do it,” Tiger whined. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. Who knows, you might even learn something new?”

Castiel sighed and absentmindedly dragged his hands through his hair under the hot spray of water.

“Alright…” he agreed reluctantly. “But I’m not doing anything weird.” 

“Dude, it’s your hands,” Tiger pointed out with a snort. “It’s not like I could force you to do something you don’t want. You just touch where and how I tell you, okay?”

“Fine.” Castiel was a bit put off at this whole deal. He enjoyed the way they usually did it, just listening to each other, conversing in not-really-conversations and half spoken sentences. Sure, it might have become a bit of a routine during the last few weeks, but that didn’t necessary mean he thought it was boring…

“Okay, then put your hands just below your hips and spread your fingers,” Tiger urged, and Castiel did as he was told, though he felt rather silly doing it.

“Yes,” he said out loud, confirming that he had obeyed the instruction.

“Move them up towards your shoulders, slowly. You should barely be touching yourself. Just stroke up and down.”

Cas moved his hands like Tiger said and sure, it felt kind of nice, he wasn’t going to deny that, but he would not like to go as far as to call it ‘exciting’. 

“Now what?” he asked, growing impatient. This was ridiculous, why were they doing this?

“Just keep going,” Tiger soothed from behind the tiles. “Lose yourself in it.”

“You sound like some half-quack yoga-instructor...” Castiel snorted.

“And you like a very bad behaving student,” the other retorted. “Now shut up and do as I say, before I get in there and give you a spanking.”

Castiel’s lip quirked, but he didn’t voice the sarcastic comment that wanted to fall off the tip of his tongue in response. He sighed once, breathing in deeply, and then continued stroking his hands over his body, concentrating on the feel of it like Tiger had told him to.

Water was pouring down on him, sending hot streams trickling in between his fingertips. The palm of his hands skimmed lightly over his skin; fingers dragging lazily from the edge of his hipbones, over his sides, trailing over his ribs and torso, skirting the edge of two nipples, and then up to curl over the edge of his shoulders before starting their journey down again.

It did feel quite good actually, and when his hands came up for the fifth time or so his nipples were hard and pointy beneath the touch. Even the flaccid member hanging between his legs was starting to catch on to the situation.

“Now drag once with your nails, hard.”

His breath hitched when blunt nails dug into his skin, and he both curled away and arched into the touch at the same time.  

“That’s it. Now do it like you did before. Just brush up and down…”

Castiel did so, feeling the blood beneath his skin rush to the angry red marks he had left behind on his body. Ten long stripes that stretched from just below his ribs and up across his chest, feeling the pulse thrumming through him, sensitizing him. His dick was swelling, finally picking up on what was going on.

“You with me so far?” Tiger murmured, and Cas was willing to bet anything that the other was touching himself too.

“Yes…” he breathed.

“Are you right handed?”

“I am.”

“Take your left then and put it above your pelvis and press, just a little.”

The action made Castiel shudder, his groin tingling and causing his cock to twitch.

“Feels good?”

“Mhm…”

“Keep it there. Every time your right hand moves down, you press with your left just like you did now.”

Castiel was not unfamiliar with the technique of pressing against that spot while he masturbated, but it was different now when he wasn’t jerking off at the same time. Every slow drag of his fingers caused him to shudder, and the steady pressure of his palm made his gut tingle. Sometimes Tiger would ask him to drag with his nails again, and Castiel hissed when he obeyed, not being able to decide whether he liked the momentary sting of pain or the rush of blood that came afterwards better. His breath was still steady, but it had become thicker, more strained. The occasional shivers that went through his body were just shallow enough not to tear and rip it into stuttering gasps, but still threateningly close.

“Mmm, you sound like you’re enjoying yourself.”  Tiger’s voice had gotten that lazy tone again, and now there was no doubt in Castiel’s mind about what the other was doing. He had come to recognize those sounds well, and like always when that voice hit him he felt a rush of heat shoot down his spine.

“It’s… better than I thought,” he admitted.

“Oh, it gets better in a minute…” Tiger drawled, but then the drowsy tone disappeared from his voice, being replaced by one far more demanding. “Put the fingers of your left hand into your mouth.”

The order came so sudden it hit Castiel’s dozed off brain with the crack of a whip.

“W—what?” his voice broke a little and the movement of his hand stilled.

“I said put your fingers in your mouth. Get them wet for me.”

Castiel’s skin rose with goosebumps at the possessiveness that snuck its way into the other’s sentence, and his entire frame shook because oh, that was… that was just…

“You want me to—”

“Yes, I do. Now  _ suck _ .”

It was not a request— it was an order—and before Castiel had a chance to even reflect upon what that new voice did to him he was dragging his tongue over the digits of his hand, slickening them with saliva while releasing a breathless moan that sounded like it had been punched out of his lungs. His sudden noise made Tiger groan in response, and Castiel could hear the other man as he began to jerk himself off in the other stall.

“Yeah… You like that?” Tiger chuckled. “You’re imagining that’s my cock in your mouth right now, aren’t you? I bet you’re like a fucking porn star when it comes to sucking dick…” 

Castiel released the fingers with an audible pop, feeling a blush coming on from the other’s words, but he couldn’t think of anything to say in return.

“I want you to touch yourself, Blue… I want you to rub and tease that tight little hole of yours with your fingers, but don’t put any of them inside. Not yet.”

Castiel’s entire body shuddered, but he did as he was told, pulling his hand back and arching in order to reach around far enough to slide the wet digits against his entrance. He started massaging the opening very tentatively, feeling the loosening of the muscles when he began to relax into the touch, panting loudly.

“You like it?” Tiger inquired.

“Yes…” he moaned.

“You’ve done this before?”

Castiel’s finger prodded slowly, breath catching in his lungs when the opening gave way for the digit far easier than he thought it would.

“Yes…” he gasped. “But not… not recently….” 

“Were you alone?”

Castiel opened his mouth, but all he managed was a low pant. He wanted to push in, to push back, but Tiger had told him to wait, he had to wait, he had to— 

“Hey, you still with me here?”

Tiger’s voice snapped him back to reality, and he forced his fingers to a halt, giving him time to find his voice and register the question.

“I’ve never—” he hesitated, feeling a juvenile sense of embarrassment form in his chest.

“You’ve never what?” Tiger urged.

“I’ve never done…  _ that _ with a guy.” Great, now he was blushing again. “You know… not with anything more than fingers…” he clarified.

There was a moment of silence, and then Tiger let out a surprised little snort.

“Well, I’ll be damned…”

“What?”

“Guess you are a little virgin angel after all.”

“Shut up.” Castiel’s ears heated up to a hundred degrees, and he knew that he must look incredibly stupid where he stood, cheeks burning and back arched. Then something in the corner of his eye caught his attention, making him forget everything about his current humiliation.

It was a bottle. A tiny, blue bottle, which was sticking out from around the other side of the shower stall, in about the same height as Castiel’s face. 

“What’s… what is that?” he gulped, pulse suddenly rushing through his veins like a runaway train.

“What does it look like?” Came the suggestive answer, and the bottle did an equally suggestive wiggle. “Take it.”

Castiel reached out, hand suddenly trembling, and grabbed the bottle. For a split moment, when his fingers clasped around the top of the container while Tiger still held on to the other half, he felt like he couldn’t breathe properly.

The bottle dropped into his hand, surprisingly heavy. Full.

“You bought this for today?” Castiel asked.

“I like being prepared,” Tiger mused. “Open it. Try it out.”

Fingers shaking, Cas flipped the lid open with his thumb. He removed his hands from behind himself and squirted some of the lube onto the tip of his fingers.

“I trust I won’t have to tell you what to do with it?”

Castiel caught himself shaking his head, and he quickly cleared his throat.

“No. No, I know…”

“Good…” Tiger hummed. “Then get them inside. Now.”

It was amazing how he could switch his voice from a taunting smirk to a demanding growl in less than a second; a talent that Castiel’s body couldn’t have been more appreciative of.

The lube slickened the way for his finger as he pushed it against his entrance, allowing it to sink into himself. He groaned, feeling the heat clench down and tense when he moved, but it was far from the stinging burn that pushing in dry would have caused. 

Like he had said, this wasn’t the first time he had done something like this to himself—or had someone else do it for him either for that matter—but even though it hadn’t been too long since he last did this to himself, his brain seemed to have forgotten everything about how it felt, because this was suddenly so much more  _ intense _ . 

A sharp hiss escaped his lips when the first ring of muscles finally allowed him entrance, the push of his single finger enough to make his head sear.

“You okay?” Tiger sounded concerned, and Castiel took a deep breath, steadying himself against the wall with his free hand.

“I’m fine, it’s just… Shit, it’s been a long time…”

He arched again, twisting his finger and groaned when a new throb of that strange mix between pleasure and discomfort shot up his spine.

“You don’t have to, you know,” Tiger said suddenly. “It was only an idea, if it doesn’t feel right— ” 

Castiel leaned his head against the cool tiles, amused determination settling in his chest from the concern in the other’s voice.

“No,” he said out loud, almost smiling. ”I’m fine, I promise, just... give me a second…” 

Moving again, he began to prep himself, sliding his finger in and out slowly, circling around before he let a second digit slide up and align itself with the first, pushing and probing the entrance gently. It had been some time, and his body didn’t open up quite as easily as he remembered it doing, but it worked. After only a few minutes, he had both index and middle finger inside, working on a third. 

His right hand was braced against the wall, and he was breathing harshly into the ceramic as he began curling his fingers inside himself. Searching for that little bundle that would make stars shoot before his eyes, he tried to work the angle as close to perfect as he possibly could in his current position, moaning when the pad of his middle finger finally ghosted against his prostate.

“ _ Fuck _ …” Tiger’s voice was low and throaty, almost sounding awestruck. Castiel’s mouth fell open, releasing another groan that vibrated between the tiles.

“You’re such a little cocktease, you know that?” Tiger grumbled, and Castiel smiled weakly.

“I don’t know about you… but I’m far—” he cut himself off with another groan. “Far beyond teasing at the moment…”

“So impatient.” It was almost a growl and the sound of it made Castiel’s body twitch. “Perhaps I should just leave you to it then?” Tiger purred. “Walk out and let you have your fun, all by yourself?”

Castiel stilled, the threat slowly settling into his pleasure-clouded brain.

“You wouldn’t,” he dared. “Then there would be nothing in this for you.”

“Are you willing to bet on that?”

Castiel glared at the tiles in front of him. He wasn’t sure if Tiger was being serious, but just the thought of being left behind now was more than he wanted to think about.

Tiger could be playing him, of course, because the guy could be a real ass when he wanted to, but what if he wasn’t? Cas knew nothing about the guy, after all. For all he knew Tiger might even get off on that, to leave him here, wound up tight and helpless like this. Cas gritted his teeth, pulling the fingers out a little bit before slumping down and silently admitting defeat.

“Not really...” he grumbled.

“Good boy.” There was a moan, and then that wet slap of skin on skin that always made Castiel’s dick jump with excitement was heard from the other side of the stall.

“So what now?” Castiel asked, trying to shift into a more comfortable position, but without much success. “What do I do next?” 

“You…” Tiger moaned. “... are going to stay where you are. You move and moan when I tell you to… Not a second sooner… You don’t touch yourself unless I say so or I—ah…! Or I walk out of here… ” 

Castiel’s eyes widened.

“You have  _ got _ to be kidding me?” 

“Nope…” There was an evident smile in there somewhere. “I… ha… I like the thought of you like this… waiting… all submissive…”

“You’re a sadistic bastard, you know that?” Castiel quipped, but Tiger just moaned again.

“As if you don’t like it… Fuck, I can see you now… Yeah… those blue eyes of yours, all eager and desperate… ” 

“You’d wish…” Castiel breathed, barely managing to suppress a moan of his own before he remembered that he wasn’t allowed to do that either. 

He wanted to move his fingers again, but he knew Tiger would figure him out if he did. He still hadn’t found a way to keep his volume down while they did this, and the bare walls in here would only resonate the sounds he made and make them even louder. He’d be caught the moment he as much as gasped. 

On the other side of the wall, Tiger was still pleasuring himself, seemingly lost in his own imagination of whatever version of Castiel he was seeing before his inner vision.

“Mm, yeah…” he groaned. “Oh, the things you’re doing in my head right now… ”

Castiel didn’t ask him for details, knowing he wouldn’t have to. Tiger kept mumbling through the stream of water, filthy words that wreaked havoc through Castiel’s mind. Hoarse moans and ragged breaths making way for the flood of fire that tore through his body and made his head sear.

“Wouldn’t you like to get on your knees for me, little angel?” Tiger asked. “Wouldn’t you like to take me in your mouth and suck my cock until your lips were all red and swollen?”

Castiel clenched his teeth, turning the groan that threatened to escape into a soft hiss instead. His left arm was trembling now, both from the position it was in and from the will it took to keep it there. 

He wasn’t going to beg for it, he  _ wasn’t _ , but damn Tiger had him by the balls on this one. A single sound from him could end this whole session in a heartbeat if Tiger’s threat was serious. Even though this was a new and maybe just a bit weird way of doing things, Castiel was ready to admit that he didn’t want it to stop. At least not yet.

“Or maybe you want something else?” The sound of the other’s fist slowed, and Castiel’s attention was pulled back to the present once more.

“Perhaps you would like to get on your knees for me… and let me fuck you inside that stall of yours…”

Castiel sank his teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip, stifling a gasp. Oh, sweet Jesus, that was almost too much…

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, angel? Your hands slipping and sliding on the floor while I fuck you from behind? Nothing to grab onto. Nothing but the feeling of my hands on your hips as I pull you back on top of me, again, and again… ”

“Tiger, for fuck’s sake…” It wasn’t begging. It wasn’t, not really. 

“You’d feel so good on my cock… all tight and warm… slick and wet. I’d fuck you so hard, angel… Fuck you until you passed out… Hard and rough until you screamed my name in that sexy voice of yours…”

Castiel curled the fingers inside him, he couldn’t help it, and he had to bite down on his own fist in order not to be heard when the action drew a moan from his lungs.

“You wanna touch yourself?” Tiger asked. “I can tell you want to… Does it excite you? The thought of my cock up your ass? Answer me, Blue… Does it turn you on?” 

Castiel nodded, the fingers reaching into him momentarily stealing his voice away for a second time. How could you not be in control of something attached to your own damn body? He gulped down a breath, trying to regain some of the composure he had lost during the other’s ramblings.

“If I say yes…” He bit back another groan, willing himself to relax. “If I say yes, then what’s in it for me?”

“Are you bargaining with me, angel?” Tiger almost sounded amused.

“Yes, I am. And stop calling me that.”

“But I like calling you that…” Tiger hummed. “t makes it all so much filthier, doesn’t it? The idea of an angel doing the things you’re doing right now… Completely at my mercy, and I’m not even touching you…”

“Don’t get too full of yourself,” Castiel snorted, trying to sound cocky. “I can do whatever I want.”

“Of course you can, but you  _ won't, _ and isn’t that the whole point?”

Castiel bit down on his lower lip again, stifling a whimper because he was losing it, slowly slipping in control, the temptation getting too strong.

“You do what I want, not because I tell you to, but because you  _ want _ to.”

The pumping sound was back, and Tiger groaned, as if the words were a realization intensifying the other man’s own pleasure.

“Just admit it; you like being told what to do,” he said. “To let someone else take control for once… A suit like you? Fuck… It makes me wanna take that blue tie of yours out there and wrap it around your wrists… keep your hands on your back while I push into you… do whatever I want with you… I think you’d like that, angel. I’d think you’d come for me in seconds…”

Castiel was aching all over, and the words that crept underneath his skin were getting hotter and dirtier by the minute, pooling low in his gut and making his cock strain. 

Sure, he had never gotten turned on by dirty talk or power play before, but the thought of Tiger controlling him with nothing but his voice like this stirred a masochistic side of himself that he had not even been aware that he had. God, he would never be able to look at his tie the same way again… Thinking about the things he wanted to do with that damn piece of silk now; the things he wanted done  _ to _ him.

“Tell me you want that, angel. Tell me you want me to fuck you. Say it out loud for me.”

“I—I…” Cas had to swallow, his tongue feeling like sandpaper in his mouth. “I do.”

“You do  _ what _ ?” 

“I want you to… fuck me.” His ears glowed red as the obscene word left his mouth. “I—I want you to touch me…”

“You’d let me tie you up?” the other demanded. “Let me have my way with you?”

“Yes…!” Cas groaned, breathless, he couldn’t stop it. “I would, just… please, Tiger, let me…”

“You wanna finger yourself?” Tiger chuckled. “Is that what you’re asking me?”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

“Then do it… Move your fingers, Blue. Make those pretty noises for me.”

Not wasting another second, Castiel thrust the digits in, arching his back and moaning loudly into the crook of the arm he had leaning against the wall when he hit home, finally, finally. 

“Oh, yeah, that’s it…” Tiger hummed. “Do that again.”

Castiel did. Again, and again, and again; every delicious stroke of his fingers sending new shockwaves of pleasure through his system, short-circuiting his brain and bringing his euphoric moans to the brink of screaming, eyes screwed shut and knees trembling. 

It felt so good, so insanely good… And the images in his head… Strong hands gripping him. Wet, blue fabric wrung tight around his wrists. Hot breath on his neck… Oh, he wouldn’t last, not like this, and God, he wasn’t even touching himself…! 

“Tell me what you want, Blue…” Tiger panted. “Tell me about how you fuck yourself on your fingers, thinking of me…”

“I—I can’t…” Castiel choked. “It’s too much…”

“Then stop what you’re doing and tell me anyway.”

Castiel whimpered, because ‘ _ stop _ ’; how was he supposed to do that now?! He gulped down air, feeling the fire burst and flare within him, his balls drawing tighter…

“It feels so good…” he managed, half moaning, half crying out. “Your cock inside me… Oh, God…”

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” Tiger growled. “Fingers shoved inside so deep, wishing it was me…”

“Yes,” Castiel gasped. “Yes, you… Oh, fuck, just you, only you… Shit… Oh, shit, Tiger, I’m—”

“Stop.”

“No, please, I can’t—”

“I said  _ stop _ . Or I come in there and make you.”

Castiel’s right hand shot down and gripped the base of his erection hard enough to cause pain, and he felt the orgasm that had been just on the verge of spilling over the edge boil back down under the surface. He slumped down to his knees, the fingers of his left hand still inside himself while his right pinched around his cock, forehead leaning against the wall just to anchor him to reality, to hold on to something.

“You don’t come until I tell you to, you understand?” Tiger ordered and Cas let out a weak sob.

“Tiger, please…”

“You’re so eager, aren’t you? Begging me for it like this, like a good little slut…”

The insult should offend him, Cas knew that, and in any normal situation it would have, but not now. Instead the word made his stomach knot, and he had to squeeze his fingers even harder to keep himself together. That low growl did things to him that shouldn’t be physically possible, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Tell me how much you want it.” Tiger groaned. “Beg me as you fuck yourself. Do it.”

Castiel leaned back, tilting his hips and pushing himself up and down. His right hand released its iron grip around the base of his cock to latch on to the shower blender for support, giving him more leverage to thrust down onto his own hand. Water washed down on him from above, splattering over his face, hitting his cheeks and his closed eyelids, trickling into his mouth when it fell open in a breathless gasp.

“Tiger…” he moaned, the made up name feeling more right on his tongue with every time he used it. “Please… oh, please…”

“Louder, Blue. Tell me what you want.”

Castiel knew what he wanted; the idea the other had put in his head now, the one he knew he wouldn’t be able to rid himself of ever again. The feeling of being taken, owned,  _ dominated.  _ He gasped and quivered, his imagination taking over and providing him with the most delicious images he could ever have dare to even dream up. He moaned again, the sound of Tiger gasping and moaning next to him only adding to the tidal wave.

“I want you… to fuck me…” he gasped, the words making it all so real, so intense. “Oh, Tiger, please, fuck me… I need you… want so badly…”

“Oh, I’ll fuck you, little angel,” Tiger assured him, the sloshing of water getting louder. “Can’t you feel it; my dick inside you, thrusting into you?”

“Yes… s—so good…!” Castiel’s body shook, the rhythm faltering as the muscles in his legs and stomach twitched and jumped. He was so close, so maddeningly close, and he simply didn’t care if he begged or not anymore.

“Please…” he mewled, hips jerking and driving down faster, meeting the thrusts of his hand as he arched back, desperately looking for  _ more _ . “Oh, please, can I…?”

“You want me to come inside you? Cause I will, angel... Just a little more… You just keep fucking yourself on my cock…” 

“Yes, fuck me… Please, Tiger… Oh, fuck me, please…”

“Yeah, that’s it, beg me… Ah shit, I’m fucking you so hard…”

It was getting too much, he could feel it. His head was being invaded by the notions of wet skin, blue silk, sharp teeth biting down on his neck, the feeling of a cock pounding into him rough, and hard, and so, so good… His head was tossing from side to side, slick stripes of dark hair sticking to his forehead, sending more water trickling down his face. Water washed down on him, thousands of tiny patters all over his body, his chest, the erection that slapped against his abdomen in time with his thrusts. It was too good, too much, too  _ hot _ !

“I won’t… I won’t be able to stop…!” he managed, remembering how the other had made him interrupt just before the end earlier. “Please… I—I can’t hold it… Fuck, you have to let me come, I’m going to— Oh…  _ Oh! _ ”

“That’s it, come over my cock…” Tiger growled. “Oh, shit yes, come for me, Blue… Come for me now, fucking slut angel, come for me— Fuck!” Tiger was rambling, biting the words out through his teeth, like he always did just seconds before; voice breaking in a gasp as the last curse left his mouth. 

That’s what finally did Castiel in; that voice. It was like fire; like white, blinding,  _ scorching _ fire, and it washed over him, drowning him from within, making his eyes want to flare open and close tighter at the same time.    

“Tiger…!” he whimpered, breathless and pleading. “Yes, oh,  _ God— _ ”

There was a ringing in his ears, a rush like none he’d ever had that drowned out  _ everything _ . He felt his body spasm and twitch as his cock pulsed out thick stripes of come that splattered up on his own chest, some catching on the stubble of his chin before getting washed away by the running water. 

He barely had the coherency to pull his fingers out of himself before every single muscle in his body decided to go on strike, leaving him in a shuddering heap on the tiled floor, trying to re-learn how to breathe.  

He absentmindedly noted that he had missed out on the sounds of Tiger’s own orgasm, but at the moment he felt too damn good to be lowered by regret. Instead he laid there in the comfortable dark behind his closed eyelids and listened to the sound of his heartbeat as it pounded away against his ribcage in a close to erratic beat, letting the static noise of running water and Tiger’s strung out breathing fill his ears. 

The climax was still making him dizzy, and a few feet away Tiger didn’t seem to be faring any differently, the gulping of his breath slowly turning into silent, whining pants.

Castiel caught himself smiling. Had they been in a bed this whole situation would probably have been the equality of cuddling, which wouldn’t have been all that bad when he thought about it. At the moment, however, the cold, hard floor he was lying on somehow managed to feel far more intimate than any silk sheets in the world ever could.

“Holy mother of—” Tiger’s groan sounded almost revering. “Jesus, if only real sex was that good…”

Somewhere Castiel managed to find enough air to huff out a laugh.

“You mean you think this is better than the real thing?”

“Don’t you?”

Cas slowly opened his eyes and threw a quick glance down at the semen still clinging to his skin.

“Touché,” he mumbled, and Tiger let out a tired chuckle.

“We’re frickin awesome at this, aren’t we?” he asked and Castiel smiled.

“We sure are,” he agreed.

“Doesn’t it make you curious?”

“Of what?”

“What it would be like? You and me; in real life, I mean.”

Castiel’s smile faded slightly.

“Maybe…”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here?”

“ _ But _ , it’s complicated.” Castiel sighed, pushing himself up into sitting position. “Like you so appropriately called it; I’m a suit… and I could get in real trouble over this.”

“And I can’t?” Tiger asked, sounding a bit offended.

“That’s not what I meant,” Castiel frowned.

“No, you’re just saying that you’ve got more to lose than I do.” Wow, now he sounded really ticked off, and Castiel groaned, wondering how he always unconsciously managed to offend the other without even realizing it.

“That’s not what I’m talking about either.”

“Then what’s it about?” Tiger demanded angrily.  “It’s just  _ sex _ . Damnit, it’s  _ barely  _ sex, how bad could it be?”

“Considering the homophobes I work for? Extremely.” Castiel got up, reaching for his shampoo bottle. He needed to occupy himself with something or this could quickly escalate into a fight that he did not want to have right now. 

“Extreme how exactly? Like what are they gonna do? Take away your company car? Give you a smaller office?” The condescending tone made Castiel jaw clench, but he bit down on the acid remark he wanted to throw back. Instead he took a deep breath, pouring a generous amount of soap into his hand. 

“For your information, I drive my own car,” he started, deliberately keeping his voice as calm as possible as he cleaned his hands. “And if the wrong sort of people find out about this, I’ll be lucky if I’m still allowed in the broom closet.”

“What? You mean like they would actually fire you over  _ this _ ?” Tiger did not sound convinced, even though some of the anger seemed to slip a little.

“Oh, they would,” Castiel assured him, rinsing the large suds of soap off his fingers before grabbing the bottle once more, repeating the process.

“For masturbating in the company shower after hours?” the other asked, disbelieving.

“Without as much as a hitch.”

Tiger appeared to back off after that, because he didn’t say anything else. Castiel rinsed his hands one more time before proceeding to clean his body from the spunk still latching on despite the steady flow of hot water.

“Then why do it?”

The voice sounded so close that Castiel whirled around, almost expecting to see the other standing behind him, but then he realized that Tiger must be leaning his head against the wall, speaking into the tiles.

“I don’t know,” he gruffed, lifting his face against the spray of water.

“You don’t know?” Tiger didn’t sound very convinced.

“I haven’t really thought about it, okay.”

“Now that’s a load of crap.”

“It doesn’t matter why,” Castiel grumbled. “I’m here, aren’t I?” He heard Tiger snort loudly on the other side of the wall.

“Of course it matters, what kind of a stupid thing is that to say?” Tiger objected, and Castiel had to fight the urge to say something very rude in return.

“Why do you care?” he snapped instead. “You said it yourself that it was just sex.”

“And sex is somehow supposed to make me incapable of  _ caring _ ?”

“Doesn’t it?” Castiel glowered at the tiles.

“Of course it doesn’t!” Tiger snarled. “I care. And I don’t want anybody to go losing their job over me.”

“If I do then that’s my problem, not yours,” Castiel bit back.

“If they fire  _ you  _ because of this then what’s stopping them from doing the same to me?”

Castiel’s jaw shut abruptly.

“Exactly,” Tiger snorted. “Nothing. For all I know you could be doing this because you  _ want _ to get caught.”

“I have no such intentions,” Castiel said firmly, starting to get more than fed up with the other’s accusing tone.

“Then what other reason do you have?” Tiger demanded. “You made a bet with someone? Am I part of some kind of fucked up rebound-period? What?”

“I’ve already told you, it’s nothing like that.” 

“Then  _ why _ are you  _ here _ ?”

“Because I  _ want to _ !”

The words echoing back from the naked walls almost hit him like a slap in the face, leaving him both stunned and enlightened at the same time. The soapy foam on his body slowly dissolved beneath the shower head to slide down his legs in frothy patches, disappearing down the drain like fluffy clouds disintegrating in the rain.

“Because I want to…” he repeated, whispering the words to himself, amazed. 

Of course he wanted to; he had known that from the start. Why else would he have sought this person out like he did? He  _ wanted _ to be here. 

Because he wanted. He  _ wanted _ …

“Perhaps you should just quit,” Tiger said suddenly, tearing him away from his brooding.

“Quit?” he asked, utterly confused.

“Yeah, you know, walk into the Big Bad’s lair and tell him that you screw who you want, when you want, and that you quit.”

Castiel frowned at the wall.

“Why do  _ I _ have to be the one who quits?” he asked incredulously. “From what I know  _ you _ could be the manual labour force around here;  _ you _ quit.”

“Are you crazy? This place wouldn’t last one day without my fine ass holding stuff together around here.” 

“You hold the company together with your ass?” Cas snorted. “Highly unlikely.”

“What can I say, I’m a valuable  _ ass _ et.”

Castiel rolled his eyes to the ceiling, fighting the amused twitch in the corner of his mouth.

“That has got to be the dumbest joke I’ve ever heard,” he mocked.

“Then stop smiling at it,  _ pen-pusher _ .”

“Hey, just because I have an office doesn’t mean I sit around rolling my thumbs all day,” Castiel defended himself. “I work too, you know.”

“Doesn’t matter, you’re probably still more expendable than me.”

“But I bet that I still  _ outrank _ you,” Castiel insisted. “Face it; you’ll be more likely to leave before I do.”

“Then how about we both leave?” Tiger suggested. “Start our own company?”

“And what would that company be doing, exactly?” Castiel raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I hear the phone-sex industry is doing pretty well these days.”

“You’re nuts.” Castiel knew he wasn’t doing a very good job on hiding his amusement, and Tiger was quick to pick up on it because he continued, adding a thick layer of overly exaggerated enthusiasm to his voice,

“No, just think about it; with your voice, we could make  _ millions! _ ” 

“So I’ll have to do all the dirty work?” Cas leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, listening intently with a smirk on his face. “And what would  _ you _ be doing, if I may ask?”

“Management, of course.” Tiger made it sound as if that was the most natural choice in the world. “Not to mention that I would also have the privilege of fucking your brains out whenever I wanted to,” he added smugly. “Even when you’re working. The costumers surely wouldn’t mind...”

“I bet you would enjoy that, you sick bastard.” Cas was grinning like an idiot now, he couldn’t help it.

“Mm yeah…” Tiger let out a moan that even though it was so obviously fake still made Castiel’s stomach flip. “You in one of those fancy little Bluetooth headsets, bent over a desk and clawing at stacks of paper… I think I would like that very much.”

“Pervert.”

“Or we could put the phone on speaker,” Tiger continued. “Have us a little threesome right there on the—“

“Tiger,” Castiel interrupted him softly.

“Huh?”

“Shut up.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, my darlings <3  
> Please feel free to let me know what you thought of the chapter :)
> 
> See you in a week! Stay safe <3


	5. 5

More weeks passed. Castiel’s apartment still had no water, and the workers kept stalling, but for some reason that didn’t bother Castiel as much as it probably should have. All he cared about now were Fridays. They filled up his mind, his thoughts always lingering on the things that were said and done, but also contemplating the many possible events he was going to mentally participate in soon enough. What sinful pleasures would they indulge in this week? What sexual fantasies would they voice to the cold, white tiles while they braced themselves against that scorching fire that threatened to burn them from the inside out?  

Tiger, of course, came up with new ideas constantly; Cas swore that man had to think about sex more than any other male on the planet! He always managed to conjure up new scenarios, new positions, and always new, marvellous, wondrous ways to make Cas become completely unaware of his surroundings, lost in ecstasy and euphoria. They had favourites of course; scenes they replayed time after time that left them both cracked and shivering under hot sprays of steaming water. It was blissful.

They ended up talking to each other more too, which of course was inevitable. At first they were just having fleeting conversations, ice breakers and lingering good byes, but those soon evolved into something much more. Initially Castiel was tense with worry that one of them might slip up and mention something about themselves that they shouldn’t, but as things went on he slowly started to relax. So maybe Tiger had revealed that he was secretly a huge fan of Sesame Street, and perhaps Castiel had let it slip that his guilty pleasure was cheeseburgers, but none of that would make it any easier for them to determine the other’s identity. As long as no one mentioned addresses, or names, or anything else, they could still talk normally, which they did, increasingly so.

Tiger told him all about his favourite movies, urging Castiel to watch them. Cas did end up renting one or two, even if he didn’t care for the plot as much as Tiger did. He still felt compelled to see them through to the end, though, just so that he could tell Tiger that he had indeed watched them. It was silly, but he didn’t want to disappoint the other by ignoring his attempts to educate him in popular culture.

This eventually led them to discuss whether movies were best enjoyed in a theatre, when they aired on TV, or on DVD. Tiger preferred watching the old classics whenever they aired, seeing them as small, unscheduled surprises that served to brighten his day. Cas agreed, not because he enjoyed unscheduled surprises, but because he wasn’t very fond of the theatre, and because it was more or less impossible for him to handle a DVD player on his own. That particular piece of information made Tiger laugh, but not in an insulting way. It was a pleasant laugh; the kind that you share with friends and family, and it made Castiel feel safe and accepted, despite the confession regarding his abnormal technical difficulties. It awakened enough confidence within him to end up telling Tiger the story of how he single handedly had managed to destroy three printers, one laptop and one overhead projector during his first year on the job alone. He also entrusted him with the embarrassing knowledge that he was still completely incapable of changing the ringtone of his home phone, because every time he tried the damn thing froze up for an hour and wouldn’t stop playing the freaking tune.

That had Tiger almost crawling on the floor in hysterical fits of laughter, but it still didn’t make Cas embarrassed or provoke any humiliation within him. Instead, he ended up slumping against the wall, tears of his own streaming down his face as he desperately tried to finish the story, choking out the words through gasping breaths, positive that if he didn’t somehow manage to get his breathing under control he would die laughing himself.

Tiger said that he had a brother who could probably help him with his phone. Apparently he was a tech genius as well as a complete nerd, and would surely be able to educate Castiel in the more basic skills of how to handle a phone. Castiel graciously declined the offer with a snorted laugh, however, knowing that the offer was meant as a joke.

They talked about the pain of having siblings—Castiel from the view of a younger brother and Tiger from an older brother’s perspective. They didn’t mention any names though, just to be safe. Turned out that Tiger and his brother used to indulge in prank wars whenever they found it necessary to blow off some steam when they were younger, and Castiel would have to admit that some of their methods would have impressed even Gabriel. Especially the Nair shampoo prank Tiger had pulled on his brothers a few years ago. 

“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” he laughed, and Tiger assured him that as long as he kept showing up each Friday, Cas—or Blue—would have nothing to worry about.

Perhaps it was the way Tiger made him laugh like that, like he hadn’t in years, that eventually made Castiel tell him about when his father left. He couldn’t remember how they ended up on the subject, but before he knew it he had told Tiger everything about how his family broke, how it came to be the isolated, scattered remnants of relations that it was today… 

He told him about how Michael turned into a religious fanatic afterwards; convinced that this was their punishment for not being good enough in the eyes of God, for not practicing the Written Word in the way The Bible wanted them to. He told him about Lucifer’s attempt to talk his older brother straight, how their fighting eventually came to rip the family apart. 

About the night when Lucifer finally had enough, when Michael beat him into a bloody pulp and then threw him out of the house into the pouring rain while a twelve year old Gabriel hid in the closet; hands covering Castiel’s ears so that he wouldn’t have to hear what was happening on the other side of the door.

How Castiel had cried when Anna ran away the very next weekend, and the way Michael had become even more obsessed with his religion after that; forcing the remaining three siblings into a straight line guided by religious misconception and military discipline. 

Balthazar did as he was told, sarcastically of course, and Castiel was too young to put up any resistance, but Gabriel on the other hand had been rebellious enough for the three of them. Not only did he take whatever orders Michael gave him and throw them back in his face, but he also made it his life's goal to flaunt his deviating sexuality as much as he could. Got himself beaten up for his trouble more than once of course, but he greeted the fist to his face with the same, shit-eating grin like he greeted everything else that ever tried to put a leash on him, driving Michael to the brink of his slowly faltering sanity. 

Sometimes Castiel would feel guilty about it, since Michael had focused so much on Gabriel that he completely missed out on the fact that Castiel also grew up gay. Cas had known how to hide it, of course—he simply didn’t do anything Gabriel did—but the fact remained that had it not been for his older brother, Cas was not sure if he would have made it through his childhood as undamaged as he had. Michael would have broken him, just the way he tried to break Gabriel, only with Castiel, he would have succeeded… 

He told Tiger how Balthazar split soon after, leaving the two of them behind, and how on the very day Gabriel turned sixteen, he and Castiel moved out too. Or rather, they took their stuff and ran. Far away. Just got on a bus and never looked back. They found a place to stay, jumped from job to job wherever they found employment—Castiel was still convinced over half of the jobs hadn’t been considered legal since they both had been underage at the time— and slowly, day by day, they had managed to turn their lives around. 

Tiger listened quietly until he was finished, never interrupting or asking questions, but when Castiel’s last word rang out against the tiles he let out a slow, shaky breath and then he started talking as well.

He told Castiel how he lost his mother and father in a fire when he and his brother were just kids, how they were raised by a friend of the family named Bobby, and just like Cas and his brother they stuck together through thick and thin—tied together by a mental connection that neither of them could describe. 

He explained how he took it upon himself to keep his brother safe; that to this day he still felt this compelling need to watch out for him even though they were both grownups now. How the bond he shared with his brother had ruined more than one attempted relationship throughout the years; people incapable of understanding the duty he thought himself obligated to uphold. 

“It’s stupid really…” he muttered and Castiel found himself silently agreeing to that. He loved Gabriel, would do anything for him, but there was a desperation to Tiger’s voice when he talked about his brother that wasn’t the same. A fear; as if just speaking of bad things would automatically cause them to come true.

“Your brother…” Cas said slowly. “Do you think he would want you to carry this burden by yourself?”

Tiger snorted loudly.

“He’d probably kick my ass for just thinking about it.”

“Then doesn’t that say it all?”

There was no answer from the other side, and Castiel leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the tiles.

“You can’t carry the weight of your family’s past forever,” he pointed out. “If you and your brother share this bond you speak of, then I doubt he would want you to do this to yourself either. He’d want you to be happy, wouldn’t he?”

“He has mentioned it on occasion…” Tiger grumbled back.

“Then perhaps you should start listening more.”

“I am listening,” Tiger objected. “I just can’t… I just can’t stop  _ worrying _ .”

Castiel laughed, shaking his head.

“Big brother to the very end,” he said. “You should give him more credit. Speaking as a younger sibling of six, I can assure you that we are indeed capable of taking care of ourselves. Even if we appreciate the concern, sometimes it becomes more annoying than endearing.”

“So I’m really just being a pain in his ass?” Tiger asked, and Cas pursed his lips, nodding to himself.

“A very caring pain,” he assured. “But I think it would do your relationship good if you just, you know, got off his back. Just a little.”

“Well,” Tiger sighed. “I guess I could always try. Not that I think it will make a difference.”

“You do, or you do not,” Castiel said firmly. “There is no try.”

For a moment there was silence from the other side of the stall, and then Tiger’s voice came drifting through, a little bit awestruck.

“Dude… did you just quote Yoda on me?” he asked disbelieving.

“Well, the phrase ´Luke, I am your father’ did not seem like a suitable response.” Cas couldn’t help but roll his eyes to the ceiling as he said it.

“Nah, that would have been a bit kinky, wouldn’t it?.” 

Cas’s lips curled into a mischievous smirk.

“Then again…” he drawled, making sure that low timbre the other liked so much came through in his voice. “In case role-play turns you on…”

“Dude, I’m not jerking off to someone sounding like Yoda!” Tiger actually sounded appalled by the very idea.

“Really?” Castiel's smirk grew wider. “So you’re saying that even your perverseness has a limit?”

“Oh, there’s a limit alright, and it’s drawn right there.”

“You sure?” Cas asked sweetly. “I can do Vader if you want?”

“No,” Tiger said strongly. “Absolutely not.”

“No? Jar Jar Binx then?”

“No!”

“R2-D2?”

“ _ Blue _ !”

Castiel barely managed to contain his laughter at the disgusted wince in the other’s voice.

“I sat through six movies for your sake, and now you’re not even going to take advantage of that?” he asked. “I’m disappointed, Tiger, very disappointed.”

“Shut up. You’d probably be too shy to do it properly anyway.”

Castiel straightened up with a huff, tracing the seams between the tiles with his index finger.

“What do you mean by that?” he grumbled.

“That you’re still too much of a prude to do something like role-play. It would be more awkward for you than for me, and besides, you still haven’t managed to get the dirty talk right.”

“I have,” Castiel objected indignantly, but Tiger just snorted at him.

“Yeah, but not like  _ that _ ,” he said. “You moan and say nasty things when I tell you to, but it’s not the same.”

“You’re saying I’m not turning you on?” Cas frowned, but Tiger just laughed, letting out a longing sigh.

“Oh, angel, babe, you know you do… But I’m talking about your vocabulary here, not your sex appeal.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I mean, you say fuck, and cock, and dick and all, but that’s about it, isn’t it? You answer when I ask you things, tell me how good it feels, but you never say anything  _ back _ . Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the thought of me fucking you speechless, but it would be nice if you’d reciprocate once in awhile, you know?” 

Castiel nodded. He couldn’t argue with that. He had improved, no doubt, but he still hadn’t come to the final step of actually taking the lead during their weekly sessions.

“I see your point,” he admitted.

“Then how about I make you a deal?” Tiger suggested, and Castiel glanced up at the tiles.

“What deal?” he asked, feeling suspicion stir in his stomach.

“If you turn up here next Friday, and you make sure to give me a proper show, then I promise to give you something in return.”

“Like what?”

“That’s a surprise.”

Tiger was smirking. That was never a good sign. And with ‘never’ Cas meant ‘ _ always’ _ .

He thought about the offer, trying to decipher exactly what the other wanted him to do.

“When you say ‘show’, do you mean—”

“I mean you talk and I listen. I want you to paint me a picture, angel. A vivid, obscene,  _ filthy  _ picture that will have me splashing the wall with my come in minutes. You think you can do that?”

As if that mental image could have him denying anything. 

“You promise not to hold back on me?” Cas asked, closing his eyes.

“Oh, you just make sure to say the right things, and I promise to scream my voice hoarse for you, babe.”

Castiel could feel his pulse quicken as his body instinctively reacted to the husky suggestion by pumping its blood straight south, and he moaned shamelessly.

“You have to stop talking like that, or we’re going to be here all night.”

“Yeah, and wouldn’t that be a shame,” Tiger smiled. “I like it when I make you come twice, you always get that desperate whine in your voice towards the end… It drives me crazy…”

Castiel hummed, dragging his hands lazily down his body.

“You need to leave anytime soon?” he mumbled, receiving a yearning chuckle in response.

“Trust me, I’d love to stay, but I have somewhere I need to be early tomorrow morning.”

“Now  _ that _ is a shame.”

“Mmm, tell me about it…”

There were the usual sounds of water being turned off, and the soft rustle of a towel being grabbed and wrapped.

“You make sure to practice now. I expect something really spectacular when I get here on Friday.”

“Practice? How?” Castiel was confused, but Tiger only gave that low chuckle again.

“I’m sure you’ll get your inspiration from somewhere…” he said cryptically. Then he walked out the door.

Castiel stayed behind for another ten minutes, like always, in order to make sure that Tiger had enough time to get dressed and leave. He contemplated on if he should take the opportunity to jerk off one more time, but he decided not to. It didn’t feel right doing it without Tiger present, almost as if he would be cheating, which was a ridiculous thought, really… 

Once he deemed it safe, he left the showers and entered the locker room, passing the many rows of cabinets until he reached the one where he had lazily flung his clothes out over the bench, only bothering to lock up his bag, wallet and cell phone inside the actual cabinet before hitting the shower. There, sitting on the bench next to his blue tie, was a box waiting for him. 

It was ordinary looking, made out of brown cardboard with a detachable lid, about the same size as a shoe box. He glanced down the row of lockers, looking for any signs of movement, before slowly approaching the parcel, holding his towel in place around his waist with one hand. There was a note attached to the box; an ordinary yellow post-it with a single word scribbled on it in large, pointy letters. 

_ “Inspiration.” _

He frowned, eyeing the gift once more before lifting off the lid and looking down at its contents. It took him a good five seconds or so before he realized what he was looking at, but once the image made impact with his brain he slammed the box shut, ears glowing red, his cheeks hot and burning.

_ Tiger, for fuck’s sake! _

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Castiel was pacing. He was alone in the apartment, Gabriel gone to spend the weekend with his beloved Moose. Now, he wasn’t pacing because he was alone and in lack of entertainment, no. He was pacing because he had not yet been able to bring himself to _ sit down _ .

Every time he passed the TV his eyes would drift to the rectangular box sitting on the coffee table, only to rip away just as quickly, a ferocious blush creeping higher on his face.

It was ridiculous. Insane even, but god damn it, the thought behind it—what it  _ meant _ —was almost too much to grasp. Too  _ hot _ .

He could barely stand the idea alone, so how was he ever supposed to— 

He stopped, eyes locking onto the innocent looking, brown box. If he was going to do this, then he’d better do it now when he knew Gabriel wasn’t coming home; when he could be certain of not being interrupted. This was most definitely not something you did while in danger of getting caught.

His body shivered, insides stirring from the exhilaration he had been trying to stifle ever since Gabriel left. He inhaled deeply, gathering himself, and then released the air in one big gush before resolutely striding over to the sofa and sitting down in the middle of it. 

With hands close to shaking, he reached out and carefully lifted the lid off, placing it next to the box on the tabletop in an almost obsessively organized manner. He carefully wiped his palms on his trousers before tenderly lifting up the second piece of paper that had been enclosed inside the parcel, reading the headline one more time.

It was an instruction pamphlet originating from the enclosed item’s original packaging, plain white with black text, divided into paragraphs describing how to use the product. There was no need for him to read those, of course, seeing as Tiger had already taken care of that part. His heart skipped when the mental images kicked in; Tiger plucking with the different components, preparing and putting time and effort into getting it all right while thinking of him…

He placed the instructions down next to the lid, carefully straightening out the creases with delicately trembling fingers. 

The second item to be retrieved from the box and placed on the table was a bottle of lube. Water-based and odor-free, with a convenient pump mechanism on the lid.

Castiel’s heart was beating viciously now, hands shaking as he undid the buttons of his jeans and slid the garment off along with his boxers before leaning back against the couch. As an afterthought, he then sat back up again and removed his t-shirt as well, flinging it over the armrest and out of sight.

Once naked, he grabbed the lube and pumped out a small amount of liquid onto his fingertips. His cock was already standing stiff between his legs and he barely managed to stifle a hiss when he smeared the cold lube over the heated skin. He closed his grip around the length and pumped roughly two times, punching a moan out of his lungs that startled even himself. 

The lube was slick and the wet sound it produced when he moved his hand up and down was obscenely exciting. He forced himself to let go, scared that if he didn’t he would lose himself before he even got started. More lube was pumped out and fingers were brought down past the soft skin of his testicles, sliding and working against the furled edges of his entrance, not wasting any time. 

This was nothing like the time in the shower when Tiger had made him go halfway and then wait, no, this was faster, rougher and far more impatient, digits moving determinedly, with intent and purpose. Weeks had passed since that time, and Cas had been given more than one occasion to indulge in this kind of intimate pleasure with both Tiger and himself since then. Thanks to that, his body now gave way for his fingers easily; the heat opening up and allowing him access in just a matter of minutes. His breath was coming out in heavy pants as he fought to reach that spot inside him that would grant him that mind-blowing pleasure once more, fingers flexing and scissoring, but not quite able to reach all the way.

His thoughts went to Tiger. Of course, how could they not, considering what he was doing, what he was about to do, and the reminder had him moaning loudly, thrusting the fingers in harder.

He would be able to come like this, just like this, splayed out on the sofa, but he wasn’t going to, because that wasn’t what Tiger had planned out for him. Half-lidded eyes drifted to the box on the table, and he quickly stilled the movement of his hand, desire cutting through him like a razor.

Oh yes, Tiger had plans for him… 

He straightened up, pulling the fingers out and meticulously drying them off on one of the wet wipes he had been careful enough to place out on the seat next to him in advance. Making sure he was clean, he then looked at the box again, cock twitching eagerly as he reached forth, grasping around the object inside and pulling it out of the carton. 

It was a dildo. A flesh coloured, authentic looking dildo, molded in silicone. The surface was smooth to the touch and Castiel could trace every vein and every curve of it as he slid his fingertips over the length. He gripped around its base, tentatively, testing out the feel of it against the palm of his hand, and his breath hitched as he allowed his hand to slide over the circumcised head because fuck, it was just perfect. Slightly curved, long and thick with a rounded, mushroom shaped tip that had his heart racing, imagining what it would feel like inside him in just a matter of minutes... 

He threw a glance at the flattened paper with instructions lying on the coffee table, the name of the product beaming back at him in big, black letters:

_ “Clone-a-Willy”. _

Once again he wasn’t sure if he wanted to moan, laugh or blush.

The fucker had actually gone and made him a dildo molded from his own dick.

The mere idea was so silly, so intimate, and so downright intoxicatingly arousing all at once, and the only thing that seemed to know what to do with that piece of information was the flushed erection bobbing from his groin.

Castiel squirted more lubricant into the palm of his hand and then smeared it out over the silicone surface, studying how the clear substance glistened and spread under his touch, following the veiny texture in thick droplets. 

_ I wonder what he likes… _ he thought, mind drifting. The realization struck him that even though they had been doing this for a while now, Tiger had never gone into details describing just  _ how _ he jerked off. He had never said if he enjoyed the same twisting motion on his cock that Castiel knew he himself liked, or if he preferred to just pump it, fucking into his own hand… 

He traced two fingers along the veins on the underside of the artificial cock, trying to imagine what it would feel like in real life, which responses he would be able to coax out... It was a shame he had already poured lube on it, otherwise he would have liked to take it into his mouth; just to test the feel of it against his tongue, the strain in his jaw… 

A month ago the thought of taking anything into his mouth while masturbating would have made him feel awkward and stupid, but like everything else with Tiger, this was  _ different _ . So very, very different.

Dragging his hand over the dildo one last time, he then adjusted himself on the couch, bringing his feet up and bracing himself on the coffee table before he lined the toy up, pushing it lightly against his hole, releasing a shuddering breath and halting when he felt the size of it press against him.

He had never had something as big as this inside him before—the reason to his earlier pacing being him trying to decide whether he should even entertain the thought—but now those thoughts were long gone. He wanted to, oh yes he wanted to. Just to try out the feel of it, longing to know what the sensation of being filled and stretched completely would be like. 

Willing himself to relax, breathing deeply, he gave the piece an experimental push, breath hitching when his body gave way for the pressure. Just like that, the head of the phallus replica was inside him. He kept pushing, mouth falling open when the dildo kept sliding in, inch by glorious inch, and the slow pace was driving him insane. 

He felt like the air in his lungs had been stolen away, the unfamiliar stretch rendering him incapable of anything but panting and gasping, and it wasn’t until the firm length was fully sheathed inside him that he was able to breathe properly again. He could feel his muscles clench and unclench around the rod in time with his heartbeat, the pulse reverbing throughout his entire body, and it was tight, so incredibly tight. He had to stop, just for a moment, forcing his hand to stop moving, knowing that it would only hurt if he went too fast. Fuck, this was intense, holy shit… 

Starting out carefully, he began thrusting in and out in small, shallow motions, but even that was enough to make the air catch in his throat. Usually when he used his fingers he had to search for the right angle, the exact spot, but now there was no such need. The smallest of movements caught on to the bundle of nerves inside him and he was certain that he would be able to stimulate himself perfectly, simply by rocking his hips back and forth.

Oh, the fantasies in his head would never be the same; not now when he knew what it would feel like having him inside, the sheer size of him…

He leaned his head back against the couch, daring to pull out a little further, push in a little harder. Inspiration, that’s what the note had said. It was almost laughable. How could this possible help make his dirty talk more fluent when all it had managed so far was to render him both speech-and breathless?

Maybe Tiger wanted him to re-tell how he had used it? That was an entertaining thought; it felt just like something Tiger would like. 

He swallowed, moaning silently. Yes, Tiger would really like to hear about this, he was sure. He would be thrilled to hear Castiel tell him just how much he enjoyed the feeling of having him inside him. Describe how the mere shape of his cock would have him on the verge of coming just like that. He could almost hear the groan the other would make at that, and it made him toss his head to the side and press his face into the cushion, his free hand shooting up to grapple at the top of the backrest.

He slid his body down lower, using the leverage he had on the table to tilt his hips up, giving him a better reach, moaning when he pushed the dildo in to the hilt and switched his grip from around the base to the little nub conveniently placed at the bottom as a handle instead. His back arched as if by its own will, and he stifled a moan, only to remember that he wasn’t doing this in order to learn how to keep quiet. He tried again, putting a bit more of his vocal chords into it, and it was amazing what a difference that made; his own voice reverbing through his chest and abs with the zing of a lightning bolt. Tiger’s voice came drifting to him through memory, breathy and strung out.

_ Yeah, you moan for me, little angel… Loud and filthy just like that… _

“Tiger…” He allowed the name to leave his mouth in a breathless gasp.

_ You like having my cock inside you? Having it fill you up like this? _

“Yes… God, yes…” 

_ Mmm, just look at you… what a little slut you are… _

He moaned, loudly this time. 

“Only for you…” He almost smiled at that, because the moment the words left his mouth he realized that they were true. No way would he ever do this for someone else. Not in a million years. Only for this perverted bastard would he spread himself out, moaning like a whore while fucking himself on his brother’s couch. So maybe he was a slut, but at least he was Tiger’s slut.

_ Spread your legs wider. _

He hooked his one free hand under his left knee, pulling it up and off its perch on the coffee table. 

_ Go faster. Harder. _

His jaw slackened, and all of a sudden it was as if his lungs had ceased to function as his hand started moving, shoving in and pulling out faster than he could draw breath. It was ecstatic, pleasure pulling him apart and putting him together over and over again. He couldn’t make sounds, he couldn’t breathe, only squirm and rock against the hardness inside him. Oh, Tiger would love this… he would  _ love _ this…!

To think that even here, now, that man was wielding his power over him as efficiently as if he had been standing right there by the edge of the sofa, telling him just what to do, and when to do it. It made Cas think about what else he would have said, had he been there. What position would he want him in? What would he like Castiel to do, had he been there right now? What would he like him to say?

“Fuck me… Oh, Tiger, fuck me…”

_ That’s not good enough, angel...  _

“Want… I need… Tiger, please…”

_ You want me to fuck you, Blue? Is that what you want? You sure about that…? _

Castiel stilled, allowing himself to catch his breath. 

Did he want Tiger to fuck him? Was that really what he wanted right now? Or did he want something else…?

_ Are you sure…? _

Suddenly another thought entered his mind, sliding into his conscious with a heat that made him shudder.

The thought of Tiger, spread out beneath him, with hands fisting the ragged material of the sofa with his throat bared, head tossed back as Castiel rode him. Slowly, sensually… dragging it out just to hear that throaty voice crack when Cas began whispering unabashed words against the shell of the other’s ear...

Castiel let go of his leg, bringing it back down and quickly twisted around so that he was kneeling on the couch, his back against the TV, one hand on the backrest. The other was holding on to the dildo, preventing it from sliding out, moving it up and down. 

He tried to relax, to enjoy the new position, but it felt too awkward, not nearly as satisfying as he had imagined it. His arm wasn’t able to stretch far enough to pull the device out, or to thrust it in hard enough. He tried switching the position of his arm, gripping the dildo from the front instead of the back, but with basically the same result. It was frustrating to say the least. He wanted to  _ do  _ this; to be able to indulge in this newly discovered fantasy, but now he wasn’t able to because of something as stupid as the length of his arms? This way it was even worse, because now the cushion of the sofa was preventing him to even pull it out properly, the back of his hand hitting the fabric every time he tried.

Stupid couch, if only it hadn’t been so— 

He stopped, looking down at the padded surface between his legs, and slowly he let go of the dildo, bringing the hand up so that both his hands now clenched around the top of the couch instead. He could feel the dildo as it slowly began to ease its way out, but he allowed it to, until it abruptly stopped when the bottom of the length hit the sofa beneath him, then he tentatively lowered himself down over it experimentally before lifting himself up again.

Oh yes, this angle was so much better, more realistic... Only thing bothering him was the he wasn’t able to do it as fast as he would want it to. Instead he had to wait for the toy to slide out on its own, and that simply wouldn’t do. He needed something that would hold the dildo in place when he pushed himself up, so that it wouldn’t follow with the movement. 

He grunted, throwing a quick look around to see if there was anything within reach that would be able to help him with that. This was a completely new aspect of masturbating for him, he wasn’t used to having to interrupt himself like this, over and over, and the thought of actually having to get up and get something to hold the dildo still was not very welcomed. However, a quick readjustment to the left provided him with the perfect solution as he now could wedge the bottom half of the dildo down in-between two of the three sitting cushions, thusly keeping it steady, and he shoved himself down almost forcefully, growing far too impatient to take it slow anymore. 

“Fuck…!”

Yeah, that was it… Just like that, oh, yes…! 

He rocked his hips, riding the silicone with circular movements, occasionally lifting himself up and thrusting back down, altering the pace to keep himself constantly on edge. The fantasy sprung to life beneath him once again, more vivid and real than before. The hard seat in the clutches of his hands were not a couch anymore, but arms, strong and tense, and he leaned his head down, resting it on the backboard, breathing harshly into the fabric.

“Shit Tiger… Fuck, this feels so good…”

_ Mmm, tell me about it…   _

“You like it when I ride you like this, don’t you…? When I pin you down and fuck myself on your cock…”

_ Oh, yeah…  Fuck, yeah… _

His hands opened and closed, fighting the urge to reach down and stroke himself. Not yet… not yet…

“Wanna make you come like this… Wanna see you lose control…” The Tiger in his mind curled his lips in a smug grin, only to moan seconds later.

_ And how—ah..! How would you… do that exactly…? _

“I would make you beg for it… Pay you back for all those times you’ve made me beg for you…” 

His body jerked, and he groaned, hips rolling in bigger circles, and fuck he wished he could have leaned down and suckled on Tiger’s throat, bite his earlobe, growl into his ear… The dildo was moving so easily now, jabbing and pressing against his prostate with every single movement, and it was so good, so sinfully good…

“Fuck, I could come like this…” he whispered. “Just feeling you inside me… You’re so thick, fucking spreading me like a fucking whore and—oh, shit…”

His body was spasming, toes curling. It was different from the times in the showers—this was so much more torturous somehow. The slow pace, his conscious decision not to touch himself until the very last minute… The masochistic streak was becoming more prominent in him the more he explored this new, sexual part of himself, and he didn’t regret a thing. His breath was getting uneven; his eyes rolling back into his head, and fuck, he was getting close… Just a little more, a little more, just a little— 

He thrust down, hard, at the same time as he rolled his hips, and suddenly there was a loud whirr, as if someone had started up a power tool. Castiel launched himself up, clawing at the couch with eyes blown wide, mouth opened in a silent scream because holy  _ fuck _ , oh,  _ sweet _ mother of— 

A vibrator! The bastard put in a  _ vibrator _ !

“Oh, fuck…” he whimpered. “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh  _ fu—” _

His eyes fluttered close, and he tried to get away, almost climbing over the back rest of the sofa in his desperation to make it stop, because he  _ couldn’t _ ! It was too much, he  _ couldn’t _ —the fact that all he had to do was reach down and pull the dildo out completely lost in the pleasure assaulting the only part of his brain that was still functioning. 

The vibrator was pulsating against his prostate, thrumming and making every muscle in his body twitch and convulse, and he couldn’t stop it; there was no way he could stop it. He fell forward, feeling the panic rise as his right hand scrambled blindly on the seat next to him in search for the remaining paper tissues. He held on, trying to think about how Gabriel would kill him if he ruined his couch, but every reasonable thought got drowned out by the vibrator whirring inside his ass. His hips pistoned forward without his consent, the tip of his erection pressing and grinding against the rough textile of the backrest, and that was it; that harsh contact being all it took…

“Tiger…! Oh, Tiger, yes… Yes, oh fuck, yes,  _ Tiger! _ ”

His hand clutched around something that definitely wasn’t a paper tissue, but he didn’t have the coherency to care about what it was as he ruthlessly shoved it in between his legs, spilling his release into the object with a broken yell that cracked in his throat.

It felt as if the orgasm went on forever, and he gulped in air like a drowning man once he came down from his high. Shaking and twitching, muscles jerking uncontrollably, he barely managed to catch the vibrator before it hit the sofa when it slid out of him. He fumbled with the device, finally managing to turn the blasted thing off before he fell down, collapsing into a gasping, trembling pile of satisfied mush on the couch, burying his face in the corner of the armrest with a groan. 

“I’m going to kill him…” he panted, another spasm wrecking through his limbs and making his breath hitch. “I’ll let him fuck me… and then I’m going to kill him…”

He looked down at the two items still clutched in his hands and groaned again, dropping the soiled remains of Gabriel’s discarded jersey onto the floor. 

_ As long as Gabriel doesn’t kill me first… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave me a comment on your thoughs so far :)  
> Take care, darlings! <3


	6. 6

When Uriel entered Zachariah’s office, his boss was standing by the book case, in the middle of adjusting what appeared to be a large porcelain urn, perched on top of a tall pedestal. 

It looked old, like something dug out of a crypt in ancient Egypt. A few cracks and chipped edges adorned its surface, and just like everything else in Zachariah’s office, it looked excessively expensive. 

The balding man in question was wearing a look of serious contemplation on his face. He did not turn around when Uriel opened the door, but Uriel knew that his presence had been noted, so he simply remained where he was, and waited. Zachariah slowly turned the relic a quarter to the right, took half a step back to regard his work, then moved in and turned it back to its original position once more. 

Uriel looked on in silence as the procedure was repeated, vase shifting and eyes watching intently. He didn’t recognize the large piece of art in the smaller man’s hands, which meant that it had to be a new addition to the various collection of items that decorated the office’s exquisite furnishing. All heavy, dark wood, like the insides of an old English mansion; shelves and walls filled with art and undoubtedly rare artefacts. 

Uriel didn’t like it. The whole concept would have worked had Zachariah been a freelance archaeologist, but Uriel did not think that buying off the items on some auction justified this kind of excessive flaunting. 

The balding man by the bookcase shifted the vase one final time before he turned around, finally satisfied with his work, and beamed a smile at him. Uriel did not smile back; he knew that the gleaming row of teeth presented to him was not sincerely meant, so why should he bother?

“Ah, Uriel. What can I do for you?”

Zachariah flopped himself down behind his large, oak desk, offering Uriel a seat in one of the two chairs in front of it, but Uriel turned it down politely and took place standing in between them instead. He disliked sitting in those chairs – it always made him feel as if he was being put up for potential execution. Probably because doing so forced him down to eye level with Zachariah, and that man could still be intimidating despite Uriel’s apparent advantage in height. At the moment he had nothing to fear, however, and therefore he turned the offer of a seat down, confident that his visit would not be long-lasting.

“Actually, sir, you were the one requesting me,” he reminded politely, but Zachariah only waved his hand dismissively at the comment.

“Yes, I know that, it’s just a figure of speech. Did you bring the files?”

Without a word, Uriel handed him a small portfolio, and Zachariah grasped it greedily, snatching it open to paw through the files inside. Each paper folder was adorned with a photo, a name, and a number of employment listed on the front, and as the suit clad man worked his way through, he threw a few of the folders out on his desk while leaving others in their place inside the portfolio.

Suddenly he stopped, looking down at a file with a frown. 

“What’s  _ he _ doing in here?” 

Uriel leaned over in order to see which file the other man was referring to. The left corner of his mouth twitched when he saw whose it was.

“I thought you might be interested in him,” he said calmly, his voice betraying nothing. “His salary is higher than the ones we usually pick, and since we won’t be able to sort out as many this time, I though a little bonus might not be unwelcome?”

Zachariah eyed the file, opened it up and skimmed through the content inside. 

“Do we have reason to pick him?” he gruffed. “I don’t want anybody to come poking their nose in this later on, you know.”

“We believe we have a firm grip on him,” Uriel assured him. “He won’t argue; the man has an… investment in the company that he would not risk compromising.”

“Threats, Uriel? Really?” Zachariah’s lips curled into a cruel grin.

“Forgive me, sir,” Uriel drawled. “But we are running out of legitimate reasons. If you really wish to continue this, then threats are the method we’ll have to use.”

Zachariah nodded, dragging a finger thoughtfully along his lower lip before sighing and tossing the folder amongst the others on his desk.

“It’s a shame; he seems to be good at what he does.”

“He is,” Uriel nodded, once again.

“Well, there are always others who will work for less.” 

Zachariah closed the portfolio and handed it back over the table with a poorly concealed look of disdain on his face. 

“Take these back to human resources.” He gestured to the pile scrambled next to his keyboard. “You know what to do with the rest.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Castiel was waiting.

He had been waiting for almost half an hour and he was starting to get really worried. Tiger was never late. Not in four months had he been late; not once. 

So why wasn’t he here yet?

Hot water sprayed down on him from above, but the usually soothing heat did nothing to calm or ease the tension curling within his body. Normally he would be pacing by now, but it was hard to pace in the small area of the stall he was in, which was not helping him handle his building anxiety one bit. Two steps in either direction was not much space to let out steam in, and he was growing twitchier by the minute. 

He had toyed with the thought of starting ahead, so that once Tiger arrived he would be greeted by loud moans and the wet slap of skin and water, but he didn’t want to divert from the plan he had so carefully laid out inside his head. 

He had gone through the things he was planning to say for the hundredth time already. Had perfected every tone and syllable inside his head so that he could be sure to deliver them in a way that would take Tiger’s breath away; mouthing the phrases silently to himself and reciting them from memory. 

The dildo he had been given was lying next to him on the floor. He didn’t know if Tiger would like him to use it while he spoke, so he had brought it along just in case… The thought of having the toy inside him while Tiger listened was enough to make his stomach stir with excitement, but not enough to quench the nerves that were currently causing his hands to shake. 

He was nervous, he wasn’t denying it. He had never held a monologue like this before, had never even considered the thought, and not only did he have to worry about the many ways he could screw it up, but now Tiger wasn’t even here?

For the thousandth time that evening, he cursed the fact that there was no clock inside the shower room. 

Something could have happened, of course; the thought was not alien, even though he tried his best not to linger on it. Tiger could have had an accident. If he  _ did  _ work on the floor in the machine hall, there was no telling what hazards he could be exposed to. 

Images of giant cogs capable of crushing and grinding limbs to dust filled Castiel’s head and made his stomach tighten. Or maybe he had been hit by a car on the way to work this morning? He could be at the hospital at this very moment; legs broken and strung up in a cast, ribs cracked, head split, in a coma… Scenario after scenario continued to paint out before his mental vision, and he was on the verge of getting out of the shower when the lights on the other side of the tiny window to the locker room flickered and lit up.

Oh, thank God…

He closed his eyes, the tension in his shoulders rushing away quicker than the water that flowed over his skin. He waited, expecting it to take another five minutes or so before Tiger joined him, but to his surprise the door swung open after only a couple of seconds, the sound of still shoe clad feet reverbing off the walls.

“Tiger?” he called out hesitantly, turning his back to the room in case it wasn’t actually him.

“Yeah…”

He relaxed, letting out a relieved sigh at the sound of the other’s voice.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked. “I was starting to think something happened to you.”

The footsteps stopped.

“I got tied up.”

“Not literally, I reckon?” Castiel smirked, thinking it best to start with the sexual innuendos right away. “I was kind of hoping I’d get to do that myself.”

“No, I got stuck in… a meeting.” 

Castiel frowned. There was something off about Tiger’s voice; and was it just Cas, or had he also just heard the other ignore an open invitation to discuss kinky sex?

“A meeting?” he asked, not commenting on the obvious lack of perverted responses. “I didn’t know you had meetings.”

“Well, I had one today,” Tiger muttered back.

“Alright, well, that’s fine I guess…” Castiel licked his lips, trying to shake the uneasy feeling that the other’s voice had given him. “So are you going to undress, or do you want to keep your clothes on today?” He was teasing, trying to lighten the mood, but all he got in return was a low murmur. He would have missed it, had he not already been listening so intensely.

“I’m not staying.”

The frown on Castiel’s face grew even deeper.

“What?” 

“I have to leave.”

“But you just got here?” Cas objected, and he could almost hear the sound when the other carded frustrated fingers through his hair.

“I know, but I can’t stay.” 

There was a tone in Tiger’s voice that Castiel had never heard before. It was like an echo; a hollow, empty sound that he could not pin down… and it scared the living hell out of him.

“Alright…” he nodded, trying to stay positive. “It’s fine, I understand… We can do this next week instead; it doesn’t really ma—”

“There won’t be a next week,” Tiger interrupted him. “I— I won’t be able do this anymore.”

Castiel’s jaw fell slack and his heart felt as if it had just dropped right through the floor.

“Are you kidding?” he asked quietly, thinking that it must be joke. Tiger was playing him, the bastard, he had to be. Footsteps echoed, coming closer, and Castiel heard the thud of a body leaning against the other side of the wall separating the stalls; clothes rustling when Tiger slid down to sit on the floor.

“Tiger,” he repeated, harsher. “You’re  _ kidding  _ me, right?”

“God, I wish I was…” 

Castiel swallowed hard. 

“But… I don’t understand.” Cas breathed in deeply, feeling dread rise in his chest. “Why not?”

“You know how you once told me that if your bosses found out about this, you could lose your job?” 

Castiel’s stomach drew together so tight and with such speed that he thought he was going to throw up.

“Yes…?”

“Well…” Tiger chuckled, but it was a dark, vacant laughter that made Castiel’s gut freeze. “Good news is you won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“I’m not sure if I foll—”

“The  _ bad _ news,” Tiger cut him off. “Is that there won’t be a ‘this’ to worry about either.”

Castiel’s knees felt so weak. So incredibly feeble and frail, every muscle in his body slowly giving way. He slumped forward, pressing his forehead against the wall with both hands splayed over the tiles, water trickling between his fingers, head spinning, feeling sick.

“Tiger, what are you saying?” he winced and there was another tired sigh; another sad, hollow sound.

“I was given the pink slip today.”

The words cut like a knife, the pain of them leaving Castiel stunned and in shock. 

“You… I— I don’t understand…” he stuttered. “Why?”

“I got called up to the big guy’s office,” Tiger answered. “They put me in this fancy room with a big ass desk, smiled… Offered me a cup of goddamn  _ coffee _ and told me I was fired.” Tiger’s teeth gnashed and Castiel could see how a fist clenched before his inner vision. Or was it his own fingers that had done that?

“They told me there had been reports about me working late in order to do private gigs, earning extra money on the side using the company’s engineering workshop.”

A tiny voice inside his head informed Castiel that Tiger had basically just revealed to him what he did for a living, but another, more panicked voice drowned it out. His brain was going into overdrive, struggling to take it all in, to separate the different components from each other and bring order to the chaos he had been hurled into.

“Have you?” he finally asked, and flinched when Tiger snarled back:

“Like fuck I have! I do overtime because we’ve been swarmed with work ever since those damn cutbacks started. And because I needed the money. Whoever’s saying I’m doing private business on the company’s expense is a fucking liar!” 

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Castiel apologized quickly and Tiger groaned.

“I know,” he mumbled. “Sorry, I’m just… I’m just pissed off, you know? I mean, I’ve been busting my ass for this company for almost ten years, and now I get cut loose because of something like this? I mean, no investigation? No warning, no  _ nothing? _ ” The last word got punctuated with what sounded like a boot colliding forcefully with a wall, and Castiel’s fingers dug into the seams of the tiles in front of him.

“They’re not allowed to do this,” he growled, anger flaring up like a beacon. “There are regulations;  _ guidelines _ … They can’t just fire you without an investigation, Tiger, you— You have to fight this!”

The sigh he got in return sounded broken. 

“I can’t.”

“I’ll help you,” he assured. “I can talk to people, I know—”

“You don’t breathe a word about this to anyone!”

Tiger’s voice snapped at him like the edge of a whip, and Castiel actually backed away from the wall he had been leaning on just moments before. 

“Just stay out of it.” Tiger’s voice was hard, unyielding, and Castiel stared at the wall, at the white tiles that separated the stalls.  _ Their _ stalls… 

“Please…” he begged. “Please, let me help you.”

“No. This doesn’t concern you.”

Something inside him cracked at those words, sending a shudder that reverberated through him like the singing, black ice on a frozen lake; because of course it concerned him. It concerned him because it was  _ Tiger! _ How could he even  _ say  _ something like that?! 

“Why are you acting like this?” he breathed.

“I’m not acting like anything.”

“Yes, you are,” Castiel insisted. “This is not you. The Tiger I know would never go down without a fight. He wouldn’t just lie down and take a beating like this.”

“Listen, there’s nothing you can do, so just  _ drop it _ ,” Tiger growled.

“You don’t know that,” Castiel objected, and then another thought struck him and his gut dropped. “There’s more to this than just you being fired, isn’t there?”

“Damn it Blue, I said—”

“I don’t care what you said!” Castiel was actually yelling now, anger rising like bile in his throat. He was not going to let Tiger shut him out, not now, not like  _ this _ . “I want to help you, so tell me what’s going on!”

“Nothing’s going on!”

“Yes, there is! Did they say something about me? Did they find out about  _ us _ , is that it?”

“No!”

“Then what  _ did  _ they say? Because they said  _ something _ !”

He could hear Tiger draw breath, sharply, as if he was going to say something more, but then he let it out again, groaning as if the air escaping from his lungs caused him pain.

“They—” Tiger made a low, wincing sound in the back of his throat. “They threatened my brother…”

The words felt like a punch to the face, and Castiel had to take a moment to make sure the had heard that right.

“What?”

Tiger sighed again, a whimper, and the tone Castiel had been trying to identify ever since the other entered the room was suddenly evidently clear.

“They threatened to fire my brother…” 

Hopeless.

Defeated.

“They told me that if I didn’t go quietly, he’d be next.” 

Worn and tired. 

“I can’t let that happen. Even if they’re bluffing, I can’t risk it. I just can’t…”

The emotions wrestling inside Cas’s body were almost too much to take. First Tiger getting fired, then Tiger getting fired based on false accusations, and now  _ threats? _ What was going  _ on  _ here?

“There has to be a way,” he mumbled. “I know people who can help, they—” 

“Blue, you stay the fuck out of this, you hear me?” Tiger’s voice was hard. “If they find out that you’re trying to help me they might— If they somehow—” He groaned again, frustration rumbling like thunder in his throat. “Listen, just promise me you won’t go poking around.”

Castiel fisted his hands by his sides and gritted his teeth. Tiger wanted him to  _ promise? _ Wanted him to stay idle and just  _ watch  _ as the company he worked for, which he helped  _ run _ , did this? Never. Never, he couldn’t. He  _ wouldn’t! _

“I can’t,” he hissed. “Tiger, you can’t ask this of me.”

“Please.” Tiger’s voice cracked. “I can’t— I can’t stand to worry about you too. If they get to you, and you end up losing your job as well… I don’t think I could take that, Blue. You have to stay out of this, okay? Promise me.”

“Tiger—”

“Promise me!”

Castiel gritted his teeth. Emotions burned behind his eyelids, and his throat constricted around itself when he tried to swallow them back down. Yet his voice was almost nothing above a whisper when he finally opened his mouth again to speak.

“I promise…”

Somewhere behind the wall, Tiger let out a deep, shuddering breath, and it took all of Castiel’s willpower not to drive his fist straight into the wall. Why was this happening? Why now? Why  _ them? _

“I’m sorry…” he croaked. “If it’s of any consolation I believe that you’re innocent.”

Tiger snorted out a laugh, but it was as far away from joyous as any sound could ever be.

“Thanks,” he sighed. “I mean, it doesn’t help, but… thanks.”

They fell silent, and Castiel’s heart began to race. His body shook and shivered under the water; the meaning of the things he had just been told slowly starting to sink in…

Tiger was leaving. This was it, this right here. He slid further down, legs giving out from beneath him and he somehow ended up sitting on the floor, his back leaning heavy against the cold tiles and with a strong sense of nausea coming on.

“When are you leaving?” he asked, voice numb, his lips barely willing to form the words, bracing himself for the answer.

“They made me clear out my locker and hand in my key card today. When I leave tonight, I’m not coming back.”

“Oh…”

Castiel didn’t know what to say. His mind was blank, completely whited out, and he had no words, nothing at all. It was so insane, so surreal… like a nightmare. This had to be a nightmare, of course it was. Because fate could not be this cruel. It couldn’t be.

Only it was. 

Cruel and heartless; an ice queen that marched through time and ripped asunder everything that came in her way without even the slightest hint of remorse or conscience. He knew this. He had met her far more times than he would have liked. Seeing her again right now was almost anticipated, like a cruel joke that had been played out on him so many times he could feel the rhythm of it unfold in the air around him, the moment for the devastating blow drawing even nearer.

He heard Tiger shift behind him, and the heavy lump that had been steadily forming in his throat bobbed as he swallowed. He wanted to tell Tiger that it would be alright, that Tiger would find another job; that things would work out for him, but he couldn’t, unable to find the words. 

He wanted to assure him that he would go talk with human resources first thing on Monday, get this mess straightened out. Clearly there was foul play in the happening, things that Castiel wanted to stop… but he couldn’t. Because he had just promised not to. 

He wanted to stand up, walk around the infuriating wall of white squares that separated them and pull the other man into his arms, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. Far too scared, and far too much of a coward to act upon his own feelings.  

So instead he just sat there, listening to the other breathe; studying the sounds of slow, steady intakes of air and storing them away deep inside his own mind, because he knew that this might just be the last time he got to hear them.

His insides were in turmoil. Anxiety, fear, sadness, disappointment, anger; all of them tumbling around one another in one big, godforsaken mess, his head howling and screaming of how it wasn’t  _ fair! _

After all this time, after all the things they’d done, Tiger was going to be ripped away from him because of some stupid  _ rumour? _ After all the moments they had shared—not just the sexual, but the other, far more intimate ones where they’d opened up and spilled everything from their darkest fears to their hopes and dreams to each other—after all that it was going to end like  _ this? _

He wanted to tell Tiger to stay, to give him his number, to ask him out on a proper date with cheeseburgers, old movies and promises of much sweeter things than a simple kiss on the lips at the end of the night, but he was too afraid. Too  _ terrified _ . 

This was just supposed to be  _ sex _ . That was the agreement. This was supposed to be a fun thing, nothing serious, nothing to work on; it was just supposed to  _ be _ ! And yet here he was, and the realization hit him like a truckload of bricks when he finally understood what he was really doing there; why he had continued to show up here for nearly half a year’s time. And still he couldn’t bring a single sound to cross his lips, even now as it all was about to get ripped out of his hands.

“So…”

Castiel flinched when he heard the throaty rasp of Tiger’s voice.

“I guess I’ll just…” He let the sentence trail off, ending it in another one of those shaky breaths that made Castiel’s insides hurt.

“Tiger—” he started, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

_ Just say it! Tell him you want to see him again! Tell him now before it’s too late, just  _ tell him _! _

But he couldn’t do it. What if Tiger didn’t feel the same way he did? What if Castiel asked him out and got rejected; maybe even laughed at? What if Tiger called him out for being a sappy, emotional fool who had taken this game too seriously and invested himself in something that wasn’t even real while Tiger had never really cared at all? His heart would not be able to handle that. He would shatter from the inside out if that happened.

He couldn’t do it.

So instead he just sat there and listened to the sound of Tiger breathing; for an eternity, or only for a second, he did not know. 

He did absolutely nothing to stop Tiger when he heard the rustle of clothing when the other eventually stood up on the other side of the tiles, preparing to leave. 

He didn’t say anything when the voice he had come to rely upon to even function properly mumbled a throaty farewell, ignored the flash of pain that went through him when Tiger drew breath, as if he wanted to say something more. But nothing came. 

Footsteps echoed; hollow, hollow steps towards the door, further and further away. Hinges creaked and screeched, as if in physical pain. 

When the door to the shower closed—when the last din of the thick barrier’s thunderous bang had finally rung out—something Castiel hadn’t even been aware existed until just then broke, crumbling into a million, razor sharp, glistening pieces inside his chest.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Castiel spent that weekend curled up on the couch. 

He didn’t talk, didn’t eat, didn’t move. He wouldn’t watch TV unless Gabriel put it on for him, but even then he didn’t really see it. Didn’t register the images that swapped places on the screen; indifferent to their messages of dental hygiene, newborn babies and breaking news. Of course he ate when Gabriel finally snapped and threatened to force the food down his throat with a funnel, but he did so with the overwhelming enthusiasm of a rock. 

He slept when the lights turned off, and he woke when he was unable to sleep any longer, everything blurring together in a grey haze that held neither meaning, nor flavour. 

His brother was worried, he knew that, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It should be painful to watch Gabriel play out his entire register, to switch between every single role as a brother that he knew of in order to cheer him up. 

In the end, Castiel suspected that he did it just to  _ some  _ kind of reaction out of him; going from teasing to concerned, and then straight onto angry before finally settling for quiet and patiently waiting.

Even Bingo seemed to understand that something was off, because he stopped sleeping in his little basket by Gabriel’s door and instead began to curl up next to Castiel’s feet on the sofa at night. Castiel was rather indifferent to the gesture—the extra warmth welcomed, but not needed—and he didn’t have the energy to even bother with the fact that the dog technically wasn’t allowed on the couch.

He had been so stupid. 

Stupid for believing that the strictly non-physical relationship he had begun with the stranger in the company shower room would ever become something more than just that. For ever having believed that this man; this perverted, rude, condescending man, would somehow become his to keep for himself; to hold, touch and love. Someday, somehow. 

Stupid for believing that he would be able to go all the way, take the final leap and reach around that infuriating tiled wall. That he, for the first time in his miserable, lonely life, would be able to finally show courage enough to claim something for himself.

But he was a coward and always had been. A sappy, romantic coward, and he had missed his chance, his  _ last _ chance, and now Tiger was gone. Lost in the vast ocean of people that existed in a world that Castiel did not know anything about. Nothing but another faceless stranger on the street. 

He had become anyone, but at the same time he was now no one; a figment of Castiel’s imagination. A dreamed up vision that only existed to taunt him, to ridicule the fact that he would spend the rest of his life yearning for a voice that wasn’t there anymore. To remind him of the fact that no matter what relations he would initiate in the future, there would always be another name catching in the back of his throat, forever crying out from the darkest corners of the mind where you put things you wanted to forget about, but couldn’t let go of.

That was the future that awaited him; the fate he would have to endure for the years to come. He could not be certain that Tiger would share the same sentiments, wherever he was, but that was a topic Castiel did not want to linger on. 

Tiger might feel nothing but annoyance that he now had to find something else to pass his Friday nights with, a replacement for Castiel’s voice and presence. Tiger would move on, find someone else, and that person would be braver than Castiel, wouldn’t hesitate or hold back. Tiger would be happy, and even if Castiel would never be there to take part of his bliss, the notion of it would be enough to keep him going, to enable him to one day let go and be at peace with his own pathetic failure.

But not today, not here and not now. Today he was heartbroken. Here, today and right now, he was prepared to stay on his brother’s couch until he was no longer recognizable as a human being, and the coroners came to place his lifeless body in a black, plastic bag. 

Today, living felt like nothing but a cruel joke.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

The pipes in his apartment were declared ready for use the very next Thursday, and so it came to be that Castiel’s first Friday since that devastating night a week before, was spent on his own in a quiet, lifeless apartment where the air was stale and dusty from lack of use. 

It struck him that he had not slept in his own bed for almost five months now. He had received a pretty hefty disbursement from his insurance company since the plumbers had screwed up their job so horribly that their mistake had rendered him practically homeless for such an extended period of time, but still… It was almost half a  _ year _ . Where had the time gone?

_ Down the drain in a shower stall… _

His jaw clenched and his hand closed into a fist by his side. He had to let it go. He had forfeited his chance, all that was left for him now was to shake it off and move on. There was nothing to be done.

But things just weren’t the same any more, and after all, how could they possibly be?

Every day drifted by in a melancholy haze. He would wake up and leave for work, and before he knew it he was back home, barely able to remember what he had done for the last twelve hours. Every night, he fell asleep with a heavy sigh, and with a lump in his chest that weighed him down into the mattress, as had it been made of quicksand. 

Becky was aware that something was off. She tiptoed around his office, knocked quietly on the door and politely waited for him to answer before entering. One time she actually made a curtsy closing the door when she left, as if he was some sort of royalty, and that had him taken aback to such an extent that he somehow managed to pull himself together enough to force forth a smile at her the next time they spoke. 

He did not want Becky to worry about him; his brother was more than capable of handling that department on his own. Walking the halls of the company building was enough of a reminder of the things he had lost; he did not need the pitying glances from his secretary on top of that. 

The days went on. The smiles came easier, became more genuine, but they were still not the right kind of smiles, never held the same joy. He invited Gabriel for dinner as thanks for the hospitality he had shown him, and he even made his golden eyed kin a full batch of chocolate pudding for dessert, which his brother almost managed to devour all on his own.

After dinner, they sat down on Castiel’s big sofa to drink a few beers, and Castiel turned on the TV, almost feeling a bit stupid when he had trouble remembering which remote that operated which apparatus. 

Tiger’s voice came drifting back through his memory, a ghost from the past that made his heart ache.

_ ‘I have a geek brother who could help you out with that. The guy’s a genuine hacker; he would literally be able to take over the entire NASA facility with nothing but a Gameboy and a 25k-connection.’ _

“You’re doing it again.”

Castiel abruptly ripped his thoughts back to reality at the sound of his brother’s reprimanding voice.

“Doing what?” he mumbled, setting the remote back down on the glass coffee table in front of him.

“The puppy eye thing.”

“The what?”

“You know, when your jaw sets and you get that hurting look in your eyes like you’re just about ready to jump out the window.” Gabriel leaned back against the armrest. “Why is that?” he asked, sipping at his beer.

Castiel tried to glare at him. This wasn’t the first time Gabriel had asked, and he still didn’t want to talk about it, but when Gabriel’s left eyebrow shot up in a don’t-you-dare kind of way he sighed, slumping down.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, and Gabriel snorted.

“Cassie, ‘nothing’ doesn’t make you look like  _ that, _ and you’ve been practicing that face for almost two weeks now. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“I’m not stupid, little brother. I had to physically  _ threaten _ you last week just to make you take a shower, and god knows I’ve never had to do  _ that  _ before. So why don’t you just spill the beans right now and save us both the trouble of me forcing it out of you?”

“There’s no point in talking about it,” Castiel grumbled, ignoring the threat. “It’s over now anyway.”

“Over?” Gabriel’s brow furrowed with confusion for a second before letting up again. “Ohhh… so this is about a guy?”

Castiel answered by taking a large swig out of his bottle, and Gabriel leaned in closer, seemingly trying to decipher the other’s silence.

“You met someone,” he finally concluded, and Castiel put the bottle down next to the remote.

“Like I said: it doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“Why? What happened?”

Castiel stared at the TV. He could lie; make up some stupid, cliché story, but that wouldn’t be fair to Gabriel. Gabe might have done a damn good job trying not to act like it, but the truth was that he had been worried sick over Castiel. The little tell-tale gestures of bringing home Cas’s favourite food and keeping the volume of the TV low while he stayed with him had made that evidently clear. 

Hell, Gabe had even stopped drinking milk out of the carton just to make him happy. Gabriel had never been one for emotionally grand gestures, but Castiel could see the concern in his brother’s behaviour as clearly as if he had been holding up a flashing neon sign. It would not be fair to lie to him after all that. Besides, Gabriel would know that he wasn’t telling the truth, and the whole thing between him and Tiger belonged in the past now anyway. There was no need to hide it anymore…

“He got fired,” he revealed silently, still without taking his eyes off the screen. There was a cooking show on, and what looked like an aspiring kitchen assistant had just burnt an entire batch of kale and was now receiving an earful from the head chef.

Gabriel’s eyes widened.

“Fired?” he asked, almost sounding impressed, though Castiel did not understand why.

“Yes, fired,” he repeated and Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up.

“You were dating a guy from work? When?”

“Up until last week. We used to meet every Friday.”

“Wow, how spontaneous.”

Castiel glared at him and Gabriel immediately retreated, sensing that now was not a good time to get quirky about stuff.

“So… did he get fired because the two of you were…” he made a very suggestive motion with his hands and Castiel shook his head.

“No, no one knew about us. And we didn’t do  _ that _ ,” he added with a disgusted face.

Gabriel leaned back against the couch, looking confused. It was an unusual expression for him, but Castiel would say that it suited him well.

“Was it serious?” Gabe asked eventually and Castiel sighed.

“No. Or… I don’t think it was.”

Gabriel’s eyes trailed over the gloomy expression on his brother’s face.

“But you wanted it to be, didn’t you?”

“Look,” Castiel snapped. “It’s complicated, and I would prefer if I didn’t have to talk about it.”

Gabriel threw his arms out and shrugged.

“Fine, suit yourself. I just think that if that’s the case then you should be out there hunting him down instead of sulking here on the couch with me.”

“He’s not some kind of wild animal, Gabe,” Castiel muttered. “And besides, even if I wanted to talk to him, I can’t.”

“Now you’re just being stupid. Of course you can.”

“I don’t even know where to find him,” Castiel objected sourly.

”Who says you have to find him? Call him up, ask him to come over; you know, the usual drill.”

“I can’t,” Castiel insisted, and Gabriel rolled his eyes to the ceiling with a huff.

“You’re such a  _ coward _ ,” he wailed dramatically, digging up his own cell phone from his pocket and handing it out to his brother. “C’mon just call him,” he urged, but Castiel resolutely pushed the outstretched device away.

“I told you, I  _ can’t _ ,” he growled, and Gabriel instantly shoved the phone back in his face.

“Why the heck not?” 

“ _ Because I don’t know who he is _ .”

Gabriel flinched when Cas snapped at him, but then he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger as he took a long, deep breath.

“Alright, back up a second… First you’re telling me that you’ve been dating this guy for how long?”

He looked at Castiel for an answer, waiting patiently, and after a while Cas finally grumbled out ‘four months’ into his beer bottle.

“Four mon— Four  _ months _ ?”  A sharp look from Castiel made Gabriel abandon the subject with a discreet clearing of his throat. Instead he continued: “Alright, so you’ve dated him for four months… but for some reason you’re telling me that you don’t even know who he  _ is _ ?” 

Castiel’s lips pinched, teeth gnawing and pulling tiny patches of skin from the lower half.

“Caaas…?” Gabriel pressed on.

“I haven’t—” Castiel cut himself off, feeling Gabriel’s eyes drill into the side of his face. On the TV the head chef had ordered the assistant out of the kitchen, and instead there was another person in his place. A girl this time.

“I have never actually seen him.”

Gabriel blinked, but then his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Is this one of those internet-dating things?” he asked. “Because you know how those weird me out.”

“It’s not an internet thing.” Castiel sighed. “It’s just that we have never…  _ looked _ at each other.”

Gabriel was dumbstruck.

“What?” He chuckled. “You’re kidding me, right?”

The look Castiel sent his older brother could have frozen a minor sun. Gabriel’s amused smile faltered slowly, concluding that, no, Castiel didn’t look like he was kidding.

“Okay…” He cleared his throat anew, looking away. “So it’s not internet-dating. You don’t know what he looks like. You don’t have his number, you don’t know his name… How the hell did you even  _ meet _ this guy?”

“We met in the… shower room.”

“Come again?” Gabriel asked sweetly.

“The shower room. At work.” Castiel brought his bottle up to his lips, but changed his mind and lowered it again. “We started…  _ talking… _ . And things just… I don’t even remember how it actually happened. Point is, the only thing I’ve ever seen of him is an orange towel. Other than that, he’s just a voice.”

Gabriel nodded, looking as if he was trying very hard to figure out an equally hard mathematical equation.

“Okay, so you talked. But how the hell did  _ just  _ talking evolve into a… more-than-friends relationship? Does he feel the same way about you?”

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon, there had to be  _ something _ ? You said it was over—and it can’t be over unless it actually started. So how did it start?”

Castiel suddenly blushed, fiddling with the bottle in his hand. When he finally managed a glance at Gabriel, he found that his brother looked as if someone had just smacked him in the head with a bag of concrete, staring at Castiel in utter disbelief.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Castiel snapped, feeling the red shade of his face grow even darker. “It’s not like I’ve done anything wrong.”

“No, not wrong, but...” Gabriel gaped. “I mean, had it been me then fine, but this is  _ you  _ we’re talking about. Shit…” he swallowed down another gulp of beer. “I’ve heard about clubs dedicated to blind dating but, a  _ shower room _ ? That’s more than just a little bit weird, bro. I mean, how the hell did you even find out he was into other gu—”

Suddenly, the hazel in Gabriel’s eyes seemed to light up, a bright flash of golden brown glimmering across his irises.

“Wait a minute…” He pointed a finger at his brother, revelations slowly taking form in his head. “Wait a minute, are you saying…? You went and got yourself all head over heels over  _ him? _ The—”

“Gabriel,” Castel warned.

“— _ pervert _ ?”

Gabe was almost bouncing on his seat now, searching for the words, but unable to find them. 

“ _ Him? _ ” he squawked again. 

“I didn’t exactly plan for it to happen,” Castiel snapped, and for a moment Gabriel’s grin grew even wider before it faded into a look of suspicion.

“Since when do you date without the intention of falling in love?” he asked. Then his head tilted to the side as his eyebrows drew together in a mix of both concern and dread. “Oh man, do I even want to hear this?”

“What?” Castiel grumbled sourly. ”As if you’ve never had a fling before.”

“Dude.” Gabriel held up his right hand, thumb folded into the palm. “ _ Four. Fricking _ . _ Months _ .”

Castiel swatted the hand away with an indignant huff.

“So what?” he muttered and Gabriel rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“A random fling doesn’t even last for  _ one _ month,” he clarified. “If it’s just a fling then you get bored after a week. What the hell did you do to pass the time? No wait, don’t tell me, I don’t really want to know.”

Castiel glared as he watched his brother take another swig from his beer bottle.

“I told you,” he muttered. “It wasn’t supposed to get serious. But it did, and now he’s gone. I screwed up because I was too much of a coward to ask him out properly. So there you have it. Now can we  _ please  _ talk about something else?”

“Oh no, hold on a minute.” Gabriel put his bottle down and held up his hand as if he was expecting Castiel to get up from the couch and run away from him. “There has to be some way for you to get hold of him. Human resources must have his number, or someone he worked with?”

Castiel rolled his eyes to the ceiling. 

“Gabriel, I don’t even have a  _ name _ . And there’s been so many people getting fired lately that asking wouldn’t do me any good.”

“Then what  _ do  _ you have?”

Castiel thought for a moment.

“Well… There’s his car… He loves his car. And he has a brother that works at Edenstar too, but I don’t know where. He likes old movies, classic rock music and… pie.”

Gabriel looked at him skeptically.

“So, except for the brother part, that basically sums up half of the male population then?”

“I told you, it’s a waste of time.”

“It’s not a waste if you actually  _ find _ him. Try talking to people; a guy who loves his car  _ talks _ about his car. Someone’s bound to have overheard something.”

“And if, by some miraculous way, I manage to find him, then what?” Castiel glared at the bottle in his hands. “Seek him out? Corner him on the street, tell him who I am and expect everything to be fine? Last time I checked, stalking wasn’t exactly that kindly viewed, Gabe…”

“You’re not stalking,” Gabriel corrected with a reprimanding finger. “You’re  _ searching _ . There’s a difference.” 

Castiel shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter. I should just forget about him.”

His brother winced, falling back against the backrest of the sofa with a tormented expression on his face.

“Aw c’mon, Cas, don’t be that way.”

“I’m serious, Gabe. It’s not worth it.”

“Don’t say that.” Gabriel looked at him and tilted his head. “Fuck, you’re the one who’s always believed in the whole soulmate-y-eternal-love-at-first-sight crap. Hearing that from you… It breaks my heart, man.”

Castiel dragged a weary hand across his face.

“Gabe, please, don’t...” he pleaded, and Gabriel frowned.

“Don’t what?”

“Just… drop it, okay?”

Gabriel looked at his brother, for a moment seemingly torn between his own brotherly instincts and the injured look in his brother’s eyes. Then he shrugged.

“Fine. Consider it dropped.” He nudged the remote with the tip of his foot. “Now turn this shit program off, there’s football on the other channel.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

It was Tuesday night. T uesday night was pizza night, and for once they were able to spend it at Gabriel’s place now that Castiel had moved back home. Gabriel loved his brother, of course he did, but he wasn’t going to deny the fact that having his apartment to himself again was a huge relief.

He and Sam were currently sitting on his couch, one big pizza taking up almost the entire coffee table in front of them. They always ordered a family sized pizza. Gabriel, of course, had mastered the arts of consuming large amounts of food early in his teenage years, but Sam… Sam didn’t  _ consume _ food—he _ devoured _ it. Gabriel had never seen someone eat like that and at the same time make it look so effortless. It was almost erotically ridiculous.

The giant next to him was already busy licking some of the topping off his fingers when he suddenly glanced up, finding Gabriel smirking back at him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mumbled, and the corner of Gabriel’s mouth twitched dangerously. 

“Why?” he drawled. “I like looking at you like this.”

“There’s a time and a place, Gabe,” Sam scolded, but he still smiled when he crammed the next slice of pizza into his mouth.

Gabriel leaned in with a leer, grabbing the other’s thigh and massaging it firmly.

“I like ‘now’ and ‘right here’ better.”

“You’re such a horny bastard.” Sam pried the groping fingers away, but at the same time he suckled loudly on his index finger with his other hand, not even trying to hide his amusement at the way Gabriel’s eyes darkened at the sight.

“You like me when I’m horny,” Gabriel objected.

“True. But right now I want to  _ eat _ . I’m starving.”

Gabriel glanced skeptically at the now half empty carton on the table and Sam shrugged.

“I didn’t have breakfast.”

“I see…” Gabriel reached out and gripped around his boyfriend’s wrist as Sam reached for another piece of food. 

“Then I guess you wouldn’t mind some dessert?” He brought the captured hand up and lazily licked up the length of the middle finger, hearing the revealing hitch of Sam’s breath before Sam pulled the digit away.

“Gabe, that’s disgusting!” he wailed, cheeks already flushing.

“Disgustingly hot,” Gabriel corrected, leaning in even further to trap the taller man against the edge of the sofa.

“I’m still hungry though,” Sam pointed out, eyes darting to Gabriel’s lips when the other crawled up to straddle his thighs.

“Don’t worry…” Gabriel leaned down, closing the distance. “I know just how to fix that.”

Gabriel liked how Sam tasted, which at the moment was pepperoni pizza, but still, even without the pizza it was his new, favourite treat. 

Sam didn’t moan when their lips brushed together; instead he breathed in deeply through his nose, leaning back and letting his hands come up to rest against Gabriel’s shoulders. Not pushing, not pulling. Just resting. 

It was slow, lazy and sloppy, and Gabriel tried to fight the urge he had to simply pull the other’s clothes off right away. He dipped his hands underneath Sam’s shirt, rubbing the taut skin above the navel with his thumb and Sam’s breath hitched again. Sam was capable of making the most delicious noises when they did stuff like this… Gabe had just finished his task of mentally cataloguing all the various methods he could use to wring them out, and he was determined to make use of every single one of them tonight.

His musing was sadly interrupted when something began to rumble next to his thigh, and Sam broke away from their kiss with a wet pop. One large paw of a hand reached down and into the pocket of Sam’s jeans, bringing up a cell phone. Sam looked at the display, sighed and rolled his eyes at Gabriel.

“Saved by the bell,” he muttered sarcastically and flipped the phone open, bringing it to his ear. “Hey, what’s up?”

There was a short, almost snappy response from the other side of the line and Sam scowled.

“Okay… Yeah…? No, I’m at Gabe’s... Dude, it’s Tuesday....  _ Tuesday _ , I’ve told you—”

Gabe raised an eyebrow at the male below him, slowly moving his hands up and down the frame of his torso underneath the buttoned shirt, relishing in the feel of warm, smooth skin beneath his fingertips. Sam looked at him and smirked, biting his lower lip when two thumbs came up to slowly roll against a pair of nipples.

“Yeah…” he managed into the phone, eyes closing. “Yeah, alright… No, that’s fine… Bobby knows where it is, he can— Right… Alright, see you tomorrow.”

He flipped the phone shut again and tossed it onto the coffee table with a sigh, leaning back against the headrest.

“Who was it?” Gabriel asked, scooting down and leaning in to kiss softly at the newly exposed patch of Sam’s stomach.

“Dean,” Sam muttered. “He was looking for something in Bobby’s workshop. He’s trying to fix up his car.”

“He sounded upset.” Gabriel fluttered a new kiss just below the ribs and Sam shivered.

“Yeah… he’s been having a rough time lately… Got fired from his job two weeks ago.”

“Oh.” Gabriel stopped to give his boyfriend an apologizing look. “Sorry to hear that.”

Sam waved his hand dismissively.

“It’s fine, he’ll cope. I just wish he’d stop beating himself up about it. He spends all his time in the garage and barely talks to anyone except for...” He gestured to the phone and Gabriel nodded. 

“I mean, I get him, Sam continued. “They didn’t even give him a chance to defend himself. They just fired him. After all his hard work and they just threw him away. You know he used to stay after hours every Friday just to help the work crew meet their deadlines on time?”

“Sounds like a dedicated man…” Gabriel drawled, returning to the task of pushing the other’s shirt up even higher.

“He is. I just wish—” Sam swallowed, eyes hazily watching Gabriel’s tongue swipe a wet pattern from his abs all the way up to a nearly exposed nipple while Gabe’s hands came down to settle firmly over the just of his hips. “I just wish he’d stop  _ obsessing  _ over it, you know? I mean, the money’s not an issue, and I really can’t see what his problem is. Like, how fantastic can a shower be, really?” 

Gabriel froze momentarily.

“Shower?” he asked calmly.

“Yeah,” Sam groaned, as if he was fed up with the subject already. “He won’t shut up about the damn thing.” He wiggled his hips a little to make Gabe resume what he had been doing, but Gabriel just circled his thumb over his hipbone in reassurance while a slowly growing suspicion began forming inside his head. 

They hadn’t really talked a lot about Sam’s brother; which could be considered a bit weird since they had been together for almost half a year, but the subject had never really surfaced until now. He quickly scanned his brain for mentions of this Dean, carding through his memories in heart breaking speed, trying to remember what he knew about the man so far. The results were… encouraging.

“Where did you say he used to work again?” he asked, returning to the ministrations of his boyfriend’s chest.

“Edenstar, same as me.” Sammy’s eyes fluttered close. “You know… the big company on the other side of town?”

“I see…” Gabriel’s tongue and lips moved lazily over Sam’s body, but in his head, his thoughts were spinning madly. It could be a coincidence, but… seriously…?

“You said he worked late Fridays?” he asked and Sam hummed in response, losing himself in the sensation of the other’s mouth.

“Mm-hm…”

“As in every Friday?”

“More or less…” The taller man sucked in breath when teeth nipped at his skin and a hand came up to tangle long fingers in the hair on top of Gabriel’s head.

“Did he shower every Friday too?”

Sam raised his head from the headrest and gave Gabriel a weird look.

“I suppose…” he answered, brow creasing. “He was a mechanic, so the job probably got him pretty greased up. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just making conversation.”

Sam suppressed a new shudder when Gabriel’s thumb drifted south and began toying with the hem of his jeans.

“That’s nice and all, Gabe, but… could we please not talk about my brother right now?”

Gabriel shrugged, but kept obediently quiet as he proceeded with popping the top button of his boyfriend’s jeans.

As he pulled down the zipper he contemplated on whether he should mention any of this conversation to his own brother, but he decided not to. There was no reason to get Cassie’s hopes up until he was absolutely sure. So instead he stowed this potentially valuable piece of information away in the back of his head, making room for the, momentarily much more important thought of how he was going to make Sam do that thing with his face and voice that he had done last time. Only louder and more desperate... 

“Gabe…” Sam’s back arched when Gabriel’s hand silently slid underneath the waistband of his boxers, and Gabriel leaned down, trailing kisses all the way from his hip to his neck as he stroked him slowly.

“I’m right here, kiddo.” He placed his free hand over the thunder of Sam’s heartbeat, feeling the other shudder once more. “I’ve got you…”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)   
> See you next thursday! If my calculations are correct, I'll have a double chapter waiting for you ;)  
> Take care! <3


	7. 7

Sam’s eyes flickered across the screen, studying it with the intensity of a predator stalking its prey, his fingers dancing over the keyboard. 

His enemy had been good so far—almost too good—but Sam knew that it was just a matter of time before this competitor made a fatal mistake. A slip up of minor proportions maybe, but fully adequate for Sam to take advantage of. 

Confidence had begun to skirt the edges of the other’s actions; glowing through in the tactical moves he made, in the increased speed of which he had begun to execute his so far rational advancements. Sam, of course, had already planned his steps with the most outright precision, laid out his strategies with carefully monitored checkpoints, of which there now only remained one. 

All he had to do was wait. Wait for that precise moment, the split second of opportunity, and then he’d go in for the kill. Any moment now…

The trap slammed shut like a vice around his adversary, and Sam raised both hands over his head, giving a triumphant shout while another, far more displeased one, was heard from the other side of the cubicle he was in.

“Seriously, Winchester? A fucking  _ Trojan? _ ”

Sam chuckled and stood up, leaning forwards to look over the dividing wall that separated the two work spaces, giving his coworker an indifferent shrug.

“You have to step up your game, Ash.” 

Ash glowered at him from his chair, his mullet flowing down over the ripped-off sleeves of his shirt in unruly tussles. He gave his own desk a shallow kick before he settled back with a frustrated sigh, defeated eyes locking on to the glaring message that was blinking on his screen.

“It’s going to take for-fucking-ever to sort this shit out…” he grumbled, and Sam laughed again.

“Guess you better get going then,” he offered, getting a flipped up finger in return.

“Fuck you, Sam.”

“Love you too, buddy.”

Sam flopped back into his chair, grinning widely. He had been waiting to do that for over three weeks now, and victory was indeed sweet. Ash would forgive him. Eventually.

The two of them had hit it off the moment Ash had set foot in Edenstar, their common interests in programming soon taking a turn down the more freelancing route. Hacking into each other’s computers had soon become a ritual for them that had quickly escalated from leaving little things like fucked up shortcuts on the desktop, to much more serious violations, just to throw the other off. 

Ash was good; horribly,  _ horribly  _ good, and a complete genius when it came to the arts of programming. Only, sometimes his brain worked a bit too fast, and he made mistakes, like in this case; forgetting to lock the virtual backdoor of his software. 

Sam, on the other hand, was not as fast, but he would like to consider himself much sneakier. He had planted the Trojan virus over a month ago, having first made several faked attempts to hack into Ash’s computer just to study the other’s MO—mapping out his rhythm and learning the steps to the complicated dance that was Ash’s programming style alone. 

Once he knew that, it was a minor feat to steer his rival through the many crossroads that eventually lead Ash to write that single combination of programming code that set the Trojan off. And the best part was that Ash had done it all out of his own free will; with  _ intent, _ and that’s what made this victory so blissfully good.

He choked back another laugh when he heard Ash curse out loud, apparently finding out that his usual way of removing viruses only triggered the Trojan’s second line of defence. Oh, all of this would surely come back to bite Sam in the ass later, but fuck if it wasn’t worth it. 

He would let Ash keep himself busy for a few hours, and then he’d give him the code that would self-destruct the virus. For friendship’s sake. For now, however, he was fully content with listening to the other getting his sailor mouth on.

He was just about to shoot another snarky comment over the cubicle wall when the door to the office opened and Uriel stepped in. In an instant, the chatter around them lowered into a whisper as people stopped talking, returning to their respective jobs so fast it was like listening to a speaker getting unplugged. By the time the door closed behind Uriel’s back, the only noise to be heard was the collective humming chorus of the several computers that were running in the wide space of the office floor.

The suit-clad man strode through the lines of cubicles without as much as a look at the people at his sides, the taut expression of superiority clear and condescending on his face. He silently reached the door leading to Human Resources at the end of the room, walked through it, and disappeared out of sight.

“I hate that fucking guy,” Ash snarled from inside his cubicle.

“He sure doesn’t look too friendly,” Sam agreed.

“Dude’s got such a massive stick up his ass, you could use him for a Christmas tree.” 

Sam chuckled, opening his mouth to say something back, but then the door opened and Uriel emerged once more, a big paper portfolio tucked safely under his arm. He strolled back to the door from which he had first entered, wearing a smile that looked  _ way  _ too pleased for comfort, and walked out without a word. The entire room seemed to let out a deep breath of relief when the doors closed behind him, and seconds later, Ash’s head popped up over the edge of Sam’s stall.

“Dude, did you see that?” he hissed.

“Yeah,” Sam looked at the door through which Uriel had disappeared.

“That’s the fourth folder in two months now,” Ash mumbled. “You think there’s going to be more cutbacks?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Sam’s thoughts trailed off,  immediately drifting towards his brother. More cutbacks… Was there even more people to cut back from?

Ash’s eyes softened a little, as if he could tell what Sam was thinking just by looking at his face.

“How’s Dean holding up, by the way?” he asked. Sam shrugged, turning back to his screen.

“Coping.” He sighed and added: “In his own way.”

“Crashing and burning, huh?”

“Something like that.”

Ash shot a look over his shoulder. Then he hung down deeper over the separating screen, lowering his voice into a whisper.

“You know… I talked to Jo yesterday,” he confided conspiringly.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up.

“Wow, she talking to you again? I thought she was still mad at you for last time?”

Ash grimaced.

“We had an uncomfortable discussion about pliers,” he admitted, but then he turned serious once more. “She told me stuff,” he said. “Stuff I think you might be interested in.”

“What stuff?” Sam frowned.

“Check this out.”

Ash’s head disappeared only to reappear on Sam’s side of the wall when the lanky male slid in front of Sam’s computer, already typing on the keyboard.

“Jo told me they’ve assigned someone extra down at archives; new guy named Garth. Wet behind the ears still, but eager to work. Dumb as a post.”

Sam snorted out a laugh. Ash didn’t exactly dress his words, but Sam knew that the expression “dumb” in Ash’s world also included more than ninety percent of the earth’s population. Some days even Sam himself. Ash might be a genius, but he certainly wasn’t a people person.

“Anyway,” Ash continued, switching between tabs and windows on Sam’s screen in a blur of colors, “This guy’s job is to ‘sort’ the employees’ files, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but get this…”

On the screen a message popped up, blinking in angry red, which Ash quickly closed with a few well chosen presses on the keyboard. Instead, a new window appeared, displaying folders listed neatly in a long row.

“They’re sorting them according to  _ pay grade _ .”

Sam looked at the screen.

“Pay grade?” he asked, confused. “But I thought the system was built department-wise?”

“Bingo. But that’s not the only thing.”

Ash quickly opened up another tab, entering a few strings of code. Another window popped up; this time showing the list of employees as they were supposed to be shown.

“This is what it looks like to the people at Human Resources.”

“They’re different,” Sam concluded after a quick glance. ”Why put in the effort to sort them if HR can’t even see it?”

“Because  _ this  _ list…” Ash gestured to the screen and then switched back to the new, sorted window, “…and  _ this  _ list, are not related. The people at Human Resources don’t even know the sorting is happening. The whole thing is a cover-up.”

“A cover for what?” Sam snorted skeptically. 

Ash loved conspiracy theories, and he hated everything that even resembled authority. The thought that the company was up to something fishy probably pushed the guy’s buttons in all the right ways, and Sam wasn’t prepared to accept what the other was suggesting without a healthy portion of skepticism.

In response to his question, however, Ash just shrugged.

“Don’t know. I tried to ask around a bit, but no one I’ve talked to so far seems to know shit all about it.”

“Then how come Jo knew?” Sam frowned and the corner of Ash’s mouth quirked up.

“She bumped into this Garth fellow in the cafeteria the other week. He asked her what to do with the folders requested by Uriel, since he was out on a business trip at the time. Jo got curious. Turns out the poor sap doesn’t even know his job is a fake. He thinks he’s doing great.”

“Did Jo tell him the truth?” Sam asked, eyebrows rising.

“I think she was too busy trying to get him to talk,” Ash admitted. “Garth was told to keep the job low profile, and you know how Jo goes all threats when she thinks people are hiding stuff from her.”

Sam gave a low, impressed whistle.

“Did he survive?”

“Are you kidding?” Ash snorted. “The dude’s practically in love with her. One would think the prospect of castration would have the opposite effect on a dude…”

Sam laughed out loud. 

“Maybe she should give him a shot?” he suggested gleefully. “Who knows, maybe they’ll get along?”

“Anyway…” Ash continued, pretending as if he hadn’t heard that last part. “Turns out every now and then, that Uriel sends Garth a request for random folders within a specific pay grade. Garth puts them together in a portfolio and gives the folder to the people in there.” He nodded towards the HR office door. “Mr. Stick-up-his-ass picks it up, and after a few days the portfolio comes back, only, some of the folders will be missing.”

Sam looked at him, waiting for his co-worker to continue.

“What happens to the missing folders, I don’t know,” Ash confessed. “But they never make it back to the archives. So I did a little digging of my own, and as far as I can tell, all the people who’ve been fired lately have been put in that portfolio at least once. Your brother too.”

Sam’s jaw clenched and Ash nodded, lowering his voice.

“They’re picking us off the shelves, one by one, and they’re doing it based on how much we  _ earn _ . In the beginning they only took people on minimum wage, but they’re climbing. Dean was one of the first to go from the higher positions; soon they’ll be snapping at our heels up here as well.”

“On whose orders?” Sam was confused. “Uriel isn’t in a position to fire anyone.”

“According to the system, all the termination papers were signed by Zachariah.”

“Zachariah?” Sam scowled. Normally when people got fired, the papers got signed by Ellen. For a big player like Zachariah to get involved at such a personal level wasn’t just unusual—it was weird.

Sam looked at his computer screen and then resolutely shoved his chair closer to the desk, opening up a new window. Ash stepped away from the computer, but leaned in closer, trying to catch a glimpse of the screen.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Something I probably shouldn’t.”

Ash’s eyes widened when he saw the flashed line of code Sam punched into the keyboard.

“You’re hacking the mainframe?” he hissed, but then his face cracked open in a smile. “Cool.”

“I knew something wasn’t right,” Sam growled, fingers working faster. “I knew it.”

“You’ll never get past the lockdown,” Ash pointed out.

“I can try.”

“If they catch you there’s gonna be hell to pay, you know that, right?”

“Then I guess I’ll have to make sure they don’t catch me,” Sam smirked, fingers working the keyboard faster. Ash frowned, leaning over his shoulder.

“You’re going too slow,” he muttered, and then he disappeared back inside his own cubicle.

“What are you doing?” 

“Slowing the firewall down. Just give me a sec.”

Suddenly there was a loud noise, followed by cheesy music accompanied by even louder grunts, and very, very manly moans.

“Aw, for fuck’s sake!  _ Sam! _ ”

Sam snorted out a laugh when the hardcore gay porn, triggered by Sam’s Trojan, kept rolling on Ash’s screen. He heard Ash let out an undignified squawk, finger rapping over keys in panic.

“Looks like you’re gonna have to sit this one out, Ash.”

“I hate you, Winchester!”

Sam’s lips curled into a smug grin, but he quickly went back to focusing his attention on his own screen. He would let the video play for another five minutes or so, just to prove a point, then he’d give Ash the code to turn it off. At the moment, however, it was for the best if Ash didn’t have access to the system. Sam didn’t want him to come crashing into this. 

For Ash it was about finding the answers, and finding them fast so that he then could move on to do something else, and finish that too, just as quickly. He was all about crashing doors and breaking walls, whatever method that worked the fastest, and that just wouldn’t do in this situation. 

Sam did not intend to do this recklessly. He planned on sneaking in through the backdoor when no one was looking, and then he would be able to take as much time as he wanted, when he wanted it. If this was as shady as Ash made it sound, then there was no telling what would happen, should he get caught. Losing his job might even be a blissful scenario… 

His brother would kill him if he knew what Sam was about to do, but at the moment Sam didn’t care. If there had been any foul play involved in his brother’s case, then he was going to find out no matter how many rules and regulations he broke in the process. 

Another rumbling moan from the other side of the cubicle snapped him back to the present, and he could hear Ash gag a little at his screen.

“Oh— Oh, God, that’s just  _ disgusting! _ ” 

“Jo says ‘hi’ by the way,” Sam smirked. 

On the other side of the cubicle, Ash made a sound as if he was dying.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

It had just been one of those days.

The coffee machine had gone berserk the moment Castiel set foot in the cafeteria, spraying scorching java all over his shirt and jacket. He thanked his lucky stars that he had gotten away without any significant damage; just a patch of angry red skin flaring over his chest, along with a matching set of soiled clothing. It wasn’t that big of a disaster, and the problem was easily fixed since he kept a spare suit in his office in case of unsuspected business meetings. Becky had been an angel and sent the dirty clothes off to the drycleaners, so there was no real harm done. 

The relief had been short lived, however, because upon returning after lunch, Castiel found that his computer had riled into a complete tailspin during the hour he had been gone; his screen fizzling and distorted with more colors than a bad LSD-trip. 

He had spent over an hour waiting for the guys from tech support to come fix it, only to be told that they had no idea what the problem was. Then he had to wait another hour until they found him a spare laptop to work with while they hauled his old one off to the workshop. 

The replacement laptop was significantly slower than his normal one. Adding to his frustration, it also kept disconnecting itself from the company network for some reason, leaving him cut off from the main server for almost ten minutes at a time, disrupting his work pace. It was beyond annoying.

Gabriel had always referred to Castiel as a pedantic OCD neat-freak, manically obsessed on always being in control of things, and maybe, just  _ maybe _ , Castiel could admit that there was some truth behind that statement. 

Unable to concentrate, the day had basically turned out to be nothing but a complete waste of time. He just wished he was back home in front of his TV, or in his bed, where he could just forget that the past fourteen hours had ever happened.

Therefore, he was not at all surprised when he came out to his car at about eight PM, tired and completely strung out, only to be greeted by a wheezing choke when he turned the key to the ignition. He suspected that the frustrated impact his forehead made with the steering wheel at that would earn him a pretty nasty bruise later, but at the moment he didn’t have the energy to care.

“Perfect,” he snarled, the famous last straw settling comfortably on the back of his already strained patience, breaking it with a loud snap. He got out of the car, slammed the door shut, and whipped his phone out of his pocket, chewing on his bottom lip in poorly contained frustration as the dial tone rang in his ear far longer than he considered acceptable. 

“Ye-llow!” Gabriel greeted cheerfully. Castiel had to remind himself that yelling at your siblings for sounding happy when you needed their help was not a very productive way to strike up a conversation.

“It’s me,” he grumbled. “Where are you?”

“At Sam’s.” Of course he was. Where else would he possibly be? Castiel was just about to give a snarky response, that without a doubt would turn out to be uncalled for, when Gabriel chuckled in his ear. “What’s wrong, bro? You sound pissed.”

“My car broke down,” Cas informed him sourly. “I’m stranded at the parking lot at work.”

“Oh.” His brother made it sound as if it was the most none-fascinating thing he had ever heard. Once again, Castiel had to remind himself not to say something very rude in return.

“I need to get back home and get the car to a workshop. How soon can you be here?” he rumbled, and Gabe seemed to snap out of a momentary daze.

“Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. Uh, hold on, give me sec...”

A muffled conversation began on the other side of the line, Gabriel’s voice dropping to an apologetic tone only to rise seconds later as Sam’s voice answered. Then Gabe was back on the phone.

“Hey, where are you planning to fix your car?” he asked. Castiel sighed tiredly.

“At Adam’s, as usual. Why?”

“Well, Sammy here says we could take it to Dean’s if you like? If you leave your keys with me, Sam and I’ll haul the car off to the workshop tonight. You’ll have it back again tomorrow afternoon.”

“I don’t know…” Castiel was hesitant. He liked doing business with Adam. Sure, Adam was young, but he got the job done, and he wasn’t particularly expensive. He had no idea who this ‘Dean’ was, and the thought of leaving his car to some stranger just like that…

“C’mon Cassie!” Gabriel whined, the familiar mocking of his name making Castiel’s eye twitch. “I’ve been there with my own car already. The guy’s a genius! And who knows, if you bat your eyelashes at him, you might even get a discount,” he added with a smirk that Castiel could see even through the phone.

“I’m not going to flirt with your boyfriend’s brother, Gabe,” he muttered acidly, to which he could hear his brother snicker.

“We’ll see how firmly you stand by that once you see him. I’m telling you, if I’d met him first I’d have— _ ow! _ I’m just kidding!”

There was a low, teasing murmur that Castiel suspected originated from Sam, and he cleared his throat, dragging back his brother’s attention. Normally, he could put up with these three-way conversations, but at the moment he just wanted to go home. Gabriel could flirt with his Sasquatch of a boyfriend later.

“Alright, fine,” he grumbled impatiently. “Just get down here. Now.”

He could see his brother’s grin of approval before his inner vision as clearly as had he been standing right in front of him.

“In a snap, bro.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

“Your brother seemed pretty upset about his car,” Sam said from the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, apparently he’s had a pretty rough day.”

They were in Gabriel’s car, driving down the main road heading south out of town. They had dropped Castiel off at his apartment already; the keys to his Honda now safe in the pocket of Sam’s jacket.

Cas had not said much during the ride, and even though Gabriel knew that his brother had not meant to be rude, he had been snappy in his responses and not appeared very keen on talking. Luckily, Cas and Sam had met briefly a few times before, so he wasn’t worried about Sam getting the impression that his brother was a complete asshole, but he sincerely hoped that Cas’ foul mood would pass until it was time for them to collect his car…

“He gets all kinds of cranky when he’s tired. Hope he wasn’t being too rude?” he apologized.

“Don’t worry,” Sam laughed. “Compared to Dean he was like a fluffy little kitten.”

“That bad, huh?” Gabriel asked. Sam rolled his eyes with a huff.

“You have no idea. Did I tell you he threw a wrench at me the other day?”

Gabe gave an impressed little whistle.

“And this is the guy we’re going to ask to fix my brother’s car?” he asked incredulously, and Sam threw him a lewd smirk.

“You scared?”

“I’m not scared,” Gabriel objected. “I just get uncomfortable when people throw hard and heavy objects at me.”

“Don’t worry, I promise I’ll protect you.” Sam gave him a quick pat on the thigh in reassurance and Gabriel snorted.

“Yeah, remind me of that when the tools starts flying.” 

Sam laughed again, and as usual Gabriel couldn’t help but snicker. His moose had a smile that could brighten an entire concert hall, and it was the most contagious thing Gabriel had ever come across since yawning.

“Why did you tell Cas that Dean had already fixed your car?” Sam asked suddenly. “You’ve never even met my brother.”

“Because Cas would never have let me take the car otherwise,” Gabriel sighed. “Dean will without a doubt do the job both better and faster than Adam ever could. Considering the money my brother would have to spend on cab fare while Adam did his thing, Cas will get off cheaper on this even if Dean charges him extra for the trouble. Also, your brother needs the money,” he added in a lower voice.

“There’s no need to worry about the money,” Sam assured him with another one of those dazzling smiles. “Dean enjoys getting his hands dirty, and a new car will only do him good. Unemployed or not.”

Gabriel shrugged.

“If you say so, Sugarcane.”

Sam grimaced, sticking his tongue out.

“That has  _ got _ to be the worst nickname you’ve come up with so far,” he announced and Gabriel snickered.

“That’s what you said about ‘Chocolate Moose’ too,” he pointed out, smirking when Sam visibly cringed in his seat.

“Alright, ‘Chocolate Moose’ was definitely worse.”

“Worse than ‘Honey Bunny’?”

“No!” Sam objected firmly, sounding as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry about it. “Absolutely not worse than that.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Sam shot him a dirty look from the corner of his eye.

“If you call me any of those names in front of my brother I’m going to tie you to the bed when we get home and make you watch as I eat all your candy.”

“That sounds astonishingly boring,” Gabriel smirked. “I can think of so many better things to do.”

“Oh, I bet you can. Perverted little freak,” Sam added mockingly and Gabe threw his hands out in acted innocence.

“What? I’m just keeping an open mind,” he defended himself.

Sam laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re so fucked up,” he declared, not without a light hint of endearment in his voice.

“Not at the moment,” Gabriel pointed. “but maybe later...” he added suggestively, leaning back into his seat with a mischievous grin.

Sam didn’t answer, but the look he sent the other’s way spoke of indecently good things that may or may not come to involve Gabriel, handcuffs and various forms of sweets being eaten straight off his naked body. It was a look of promise that almost had Gabe regretting not having more candy at home. 

Soon, they spotted the dingy old sign that marked out the dirt road leading to ‘Singer’s Salvage’. It in turn lead them past a big field and a small patch of woods, and a few miles later they parked the car on the driveway to Bobby’s house. It wasn’t the first time Gabriel had been here, but it never ceased to amaze him how one yard could contain such an incredible amount of junk. To him, it proved that this Dean-kiddo must be very good at what he did, because the appearance of the place sure as hell didn’t provide much to appeal to any potential customers.

Bobby met them before they had even made their way around back, drying off his hands on a piece of cloth that according to Gabriel probably only served to make the hands even dirtier, but Bobby didn’t seem to mind. As always, he had his cap on, along with that grumpy face of his that for some reason reminded Gabriel of an old bulldog. Just the thought of Bobby greeting a customer in a fancy Mercedes, or anyone that drove something more stylish than a tractor for that matter, made him want to cringe. Once again; Sam’s brother must be one hell of a mechanic!

In spite of the frown on Bobby’s face when he spotted them, Sam greeted the old man with a smile and a nod.

“Hi Bobby. How’s it going?”

“Good, considering,” Bobby grumbled, stuffing the dirty old rag into his back pocket. Sam’s shoulders dropped with a sigh.

“Where is he?” he asked.

“Where’dya think.” Bobby gestured with his head to the backside of the house and the muscles in Sam’s jaw flexed.

“Still going at it, huh?”

“Are you kidding?” Bobby snorted. “He blew out an entire set this afternoon.”

Gabriel gave Sam a quizzical look and Sam smiled awkwardly.

“Dean, uh, tends to break things when he’s mad… Car windows, preferably…”

“Oh…” Gabriel nodded, eyes widening slightly. Suddenly he wondered if this whole thing had been such a good idea. If Dean decided to throw a tantrum and smash Cas’s car, it would be Gabriel’s head on the line, since he recommended the bastard. How was he supposed to know the guy was in need of anger management? 

He threw Bobby a quick glance, and the old man rolled his eyes to the sky, sighing.

“If you plan on talking to him, be my guest. Just wait until he steps away from the crowbar before you bring up anything offensive.”

“It’s  _ Dean _ , Bobby,” Sam pointed out. “I could bring up the  _ weather _ right now and he would find it offensive.”

“You know what I mean. He’s cranky, and I’m running low on door panels.”

Sam nodded, giving Bobby an encouraging pat on the shoulder before heading around the corner of the house, Gabriel following behind him in silence. The sun was setting and there was a cold crisp in the air announcing that summer was as good as over, the rows of cars lining the yard casting long shadows on the ground. 

There were lights on inside the old garage, housing the workshop, and as they came closer Gabriel could hear the static sound of an old radio blaring out rock’n’roll music from inside. The clanging sound of steel colliding with steel rung out in steady beats behind the door, and Gabriel caught himself holding his breath when Sam swung the barrier open. 

The new view revealed a man standing by a worker’s bench, in the process of straightening out a dint in a trunk lid with something that could only be described as the Hammer of fucking  _ Thor _ , judging by the size of it. Gabriel recalled with a shudder what Sam had said about the wrench earlier, and he carefully stepped inside, staying close behind his boyfriend as they entered. He didn’t care that Sam would undoubtedly tease him about it later. He liked his face, and he wanted to keep it just the way it was.

Sam, on the other hand, didn’t seem fazed at all by the huge tool in his brother’s hands, striding up to him with the confidence of a lion tamer entering the cage. Dean’s eyes flickered towards them when the motion of the newcomers caught his attention, but he didn’t stop hammering or turn around, his jaw setting in a disturbingly familiar way that made Gabriel want to crack into a grin. 

Oh, if this indeed turned out to be Castiel’s mystery man, then those two had a lot more in common than they were probably even aware of. Silently, he took in the muscular form of the man in front of them, and he had to admit, if he was right about this, then his brother was one hell of a lucky bastard…

Sam had gone up to stand beside his brother, leaning against the bench while waiting for Dean to acknowledge his presence, but so far it didn’t seem to go as planned.

“How’s the work going?” he asked eventually, growing tired of waiting. Gabriel could see Dean’s shoulders tense all the way from where he was standing by the door.

“Fine,” Dean bit back tightly. If Sam noticed that the hammer hit the metal a bit harder than before when Dean brought it down, then at least he didn’t show it, his facial expression as calm as ever.

“You sure about that?”

Gabriel watched as Dean’s eyes—green, he noticed—went up to glare at Sam’s face before returning to the task at hand.

“What do you want, Sam?”

Sam turned to look at Gabe, gesturing for him to come closer, but Gabriel stayed where he was, shaking his head firmly. For a moment he thought Sam would turn around and drag him over, but instead Sam just rolled his eyes to the ceiling as if he was dealing with a defiant child before returning his attention to his brother.

“Gabe’s brother got into some car trouble,” he said calmly. “I thought maybe you could take a look at it?”

“I’m kind of busy right now.”

The hammer collided with steel one more time and Gabriel suppressed the urge to flinch. Sam smiled, almost sweetly. It was a smile that Gabriel recognized. It was the ‘I want this and you’re going to help me whether you like it or not’ smile.

“C’mon Dean,” Sam pleaded. “It won’t take long. We’ll even tow the thing here ourselves, you just have to take a look at it. A few hour’s work, tops.”

Dean threw the Hammer of Judgment to the side and leaned down to study the surface of the newly abused trunk.

“Sorry, I’ve got my own car to fix,” he muttered, and Sam rolled his eyes again.

“Dean, you fixed your car a week ago,” he pointed out. “Then you stripped her down and started all over again.”

“So?” Dean countered defiantly. Sam sighed.

“So, we’ve been over this. Fixing your car won’t make you feel better.”

“Fascinating conclusion. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Dean turned around, almost hitting his brother in the head when he raised the large metal panel to slam it down on top of the gaping trunk, moving over to fit it against the hinges.

“Dean…” Sam followed to stand on the other side of the car and grabbed hold of the panel, lowering his voice as he sought eye contact with his older brother across the span of the trunk. “You can’t go on like this.”

Dean’s eyes hardened, his fingers twitching against the metal.

“Let it go, Sam,” he ordered, but Sam shook his head, keeping his hard grasp around the panel.

“No, listen to me. How long has it been? Three weeks? Four? You don’t talk to anyone except when you yell at them, and you haven’t been outside this place in days.”

Dean closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath through his nose.

“Sam, I’m really not in the mood for this,” he hissed, but Sam was relentless.

“You’re  _ never _ in the mood for this, Dean,” he groaned. “Just look at you. Ever since you left Edenstar, you’ve been completely out of it. I know, you have every right in the world to be pissed, but I don’t understand why you’re so reluctant to talk about it? You’re starting to freak me out, man.”

Dean glared up at him. For a moment Gabriel thought he saw something else flicker behind the rage in those eyes, but it only lasted for a second. Then Dean shoved the panel hard against his brother’s chest, walked around the car and disappeared behind the hood, trunk lid forgotten.

“Dean—” Sam started, but Dean interrupted him, voice echoing harsh and hollow from within the vehicle.

“Tell Gabe’s brother to find someone else to fix his car,” he grumbled, but Sam shook his head.

“No, I won’t. You  _ need _ this, Dean. You need to  _ focus _ . Bobby said you’ve been breaking stuff again, I thought you were past that by now?”

“Back off, Sam.”

“Why are you being so stubborn about this? You know that hiding in a grease pit is not going to make things better.”

“I said  _ back off _ , Sam.”

“Dean, it was just a  _ job _ !”

“ _ Goddammit _ , Sammy!” 

The hood slammed shut so hard the entire car shook, but Sam didn’t even twitch. Dean was glaring daggers at him, nostrils flaring dangerously and shoulders drawn together so tight the muscles in his arms were trembling. 

It was like watching a wounded animal trying to escape a hunter. Sam was doing something with his face that Gabriel had never seen before; stern and unyielding but with eyes that looked as if they were going to spill over with tears at any given second. Gabriel was certain that had he been on the receiving end of that look, he would have dropped like a stone within the span of two breaths. How Dean could keep glaring like that was completely beyond his comprehension.

The two brothers stared at each other, the silence only disturbed by the distorted sound from the radio while Gabriel held his breath. Then something seemed to pass through the space between them, a subtle shift in the air, Dean’s brow knotting together and Sam’s head tilting ever so slightly in response. Dean straightened up and turned away, rubbing his hand across his mouth before carding the oil stained fingers through his hair. He sighed heavily, reaching his hand out with the palm facing the ceiling, still without looking Sam’s way.

“Just give me the goddamn keys…” he murmured.

“You sure?” Sam dug the key out of his pocket, puppy eyes still in place. “Because we can go get it if you—”

“I said give me the keys, Sam.”

Sam tossed the clip over the closed hood and Dean caught it in the air, looking down at it with an expression Gabe couldn’t decipher.

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam said gratefully.

“Yeah, whatever…” Dean muttered.

“I’ll send Gabe to pick the car up tomorrow.”

Gabriel shot his boyfriend a horrified look, but Sam ignored it. Dean was still staring down at the keys in his hand when the two of them turned and began walking towards the door, but before they left, Sam shot him a cocky grin over his shoulder.

“Oh, and Dean,” he said sweetly. “Try not to smash any of the windows this time, will you?”

The response was a lowering snort and a raised middle finger.

“Fuck you, Sam.”

“You too, Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

The door to the workshop closed behind them with a low rattle. Once they had gotten a few paces away, Gabriel turned to Sam with a brow raised in question.

“What just happened in there?” he asked. Sam scratched the back of his neck, giving him that little awkward smile that always made Gabriel’s chest positively swim with affection from how adorable it was.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Cas’s car will be ready tomorrow.”

“You sure?” Gabriel pointed with his thumb to the door behind them. “Because I’m having doubts about that.”

“It’s cool, Gabe. Dean’s always like this. Once he gets under the hood he’ll probably end up doing a whole lot more than just fixing the problem out of pure reflex. It’s like he can’t stop himself.”

“Car addict?” Gabriel asked and Sam chuckled.

“I think addiction doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he smiled. “He’s worse than you and candy, which reminds me…” He abruptly reached out and pulled the shorter man in by the hem of his collar, coming down with the force of a mountain when he pressed his lips against Gabriel’s startled mouth.

“I have unfinished business with you,” he purred when they pulled apart. “I recall a pair of handcuffs with your name on them back home.”

“I thought you said you wanted to take it easy tonight?” Gabriel retorted with a smirk and Sam’s grin turned predatory.

“That was before you made me go pick up your brother and promise to tow his car.”

“Like that’s something worth getting handcuffed for,” Gabe objected with a snort, but Sam only gave him a reprimanding look.

“You had your hand down my pants when the phone rang, Gabe,” he said pointedly. “You owe me.” 

He leaned back in and nipped at Gabriel’s jawline, moving to suckle lightly at his pulse. 

“I’ll make it worth your while…” he promised huskily, and it only took a lazy drag with the tip of that tongue against his jugular for Gabe to decide that yeah, yeah, suddenly the prospects of being handcuffed sounded  _ really  _ good.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

“How far out are we going?”

“Not far. It’s just a few minutes down this road.”

“What did you say this place was called again?”

“Singer’s Salvage. Don’t worry, bro; it’s a perfectly legit institution.”

“Coming from you, I’m not sure if I should trust that…” Castiel retorted, looking at the interior of Gabriel’s Mazda. “What exactly did this guy fix on your car anyway? The gearbox still sounds like it’s going to fall through the floor whenever you shift.”

Gabriel grinned widely, turning in on the road leading to Bobby’s place, making a point of dragging out on the previously mentioned, grating sound when he shifted down into second gear. Castiel tried to glare a more elaborate answer out of his brother, but when it became apparent that he wouldn’t get one, he shook his head and leaned back against the backrest with a sigh.

Gabriel wasn’t going to tell him anything else, and if his brother’s mood was anything to go by today, Castiel wouldn’t be surprised if he found his car spray-painted in bright pink with rainbows and unicorns on the hood. Gabriel had been smirking ever since he picked Cas up after work, and that usually never meant good news. Seriously, if Gabe had done something to his car, Cas was going to kill him!

A house suddenly came into view behind a curve of the road and Castiel barely had time to note the dingy sign marked “Singer’s Salvage” before his brother had parked the car on the driveway.

“Here we are!” Gabriel chimed happily and jumped out. Sprinting around the hood, he then opened the door for Castiel, who climbed out with a suspicious squint at his brother.

“What are you up to?” he asked warily. Gabriel just grinned even wider, the gleam of his teeth beaten only by the one in his eyes. Castiel did not like it one bit.

“Gabriel, if you’ve messed with my car, I swear to god—” he threatened, but Gabriel interrupted him.

“Your car’s fine, Cassie.” He draped a hand over Castiel’s shoulder and pulled him closer. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

“Then why do you look so happy?” Castiel retorted, twisting himself away, ignoring the use of his brother’s favorite pet-name for him. Something was up, and what made him more nervous than anything was the fact that Gabriel wasn’t even trying to hide it—or was unable to hide it, which if possible, was even worse. At Castiel’s accusation, Gabriel just snorted loudly and folded his arms behind his head, rocking back on his heels.

“What? A guy’s not allowed to be happy all of a sudden?” he asked gleefully. Castiel glared at him.

“I know that look,” he said pointedly, gesturing to Gabriel’s face. “It’s the same one you had when you switched my bug-repellant for sugar water when I was going hiking with the scouts. Which means that you’re up to something.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Gabriel snorted. “I can’t believe you’re still upset about that.”

“I had ants in my  _ underwear _ , Gabe.”

Gabriel shrugged, an awfully crooked motion with the way he held his arms, but he didn’t look the slightest bit sorry. Castiel sighed, pushing past his brother with just a hint of an elbow to the side.

“Forget it. Let’s just get my car, I want to go home.”

“As you wish.”

Castiel didn’t have to turn around to know that his brother was still grinning like an idiot.

The garage was located behind the house and Gabe led the way there through the winding rows of cars with unwavering confidence. There was music playing inside and Castel could hear the lyrics from “Enter Sandman” blare out through the open doors, by the sound of it coming from an old radio rather than some expensive sound system.

The garage was almost empty, apart from the two cars that were parked inside, one of them being Castiel’s own. He noted that it still had the same dark blue color as before; a sight which made his heart flutter with relief. Going by the looks of the vehicles lined up outside he had expected… well, not to find his car still in once piece, that’s for sure.

There was someone lying underneath the other car, which was a vintage of some sort, the only thing showing being a pair of denim clad bowlegs sticking out under the slick, black frame. Legs to which Gabe now set his course.

“Hey, Deano!” he called out, tapping his toes against the shining rims next to one of the boots. ”You taking a nap under there or what?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. Seriously, would it hurt for his brother to learn some manners? He sighed and walked up to his own car, dragging his hand lightly over the roof. It didn’t look any different on closer inspection either. So why was Gabe being such an ass?

He heard shuffling noises coming behind him, followed by something metallic scraping against concrete.

“Kick my car again and I’ll kick your ass, Gabriel.”

Castiel’s world froze.

It was as if the entire earth had stopped spinning; slowing down to this ultra rapid pace where every movement seemed to be dragged through thick layers of syrup. 

Castiel forgot how to breathe, how to  _ think, _ as the sound of the radio faded out to drown within the pulse ringing inside his head. He could feel every single one of his heartbeats as they pounded against the inside of his ribcage, suddenly horribly aware of everything going on inside his body; from the breath catching in his throat to the tiny hairs on his neck as they rose into a stand, prickling the sensitive skin there. 

Then everything slammed back into gear, going from zero to sixty in two seconds flat, the air sucking back into his lungs so fast it made him dizzy. He plastered his hands on the roof of his car, fingers spreading wide, groping for stability; clinging on to something, anything to keep his legs from giving out underneath him. 

As he stood there bracing himself, he heard Gabriel give a low ‘tsk’ from behind.

“Now, be nice, Dean. What would Sammy say if you ended up breaking some valuable part of me?”

“Probably thank me. Eventually.”

The sound of that voice made Castiel’s heart race. It caused a fire to curl through his limbs, yet at the same time brought ice, cold and heavy, to settle in his gut. Somehow, he couldn’t for the life of him understand how, he managed to turn his head and gape over his shoulder, because  _ it couldn’t be _ —

Gabriel was standing by the hood of the other car; hands shoved comfortably into the pockets of his jacket, and in front of him with his back to Castiel was…  Oh, sweet mercy…

The owner of the body housing the voice Castiel had been playing shower hanky-panky with for almost four months, turned out to be every inch of sex that Castiel’s mind could ever have hoped to dream up. 

The man’s shoulders were broad and muscular, stretching the fabric of the other’s dark grey t-shirt, which was smudged with grease and oils stains. The shoulders, in turn, narrowed down to a slim waist; a perfect display of delicate symmetry between well toned muscles and slender limbs. The waist continued into narrow hips and the ass that followed would have had Cas drooling, had it not been for the shock still screaming through his system.

He could hear Gabriel say something else, and this time the man gave a quiet chuckle in response, and that was it, there was no doubt. This man— But  _ how _ —

Castiel knew that he was staring, he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself. He was almost too busy trying to keep his now trembling hands under control that he almost missed the smirk his brother sent him over the stranger’s shoulder. He didn’t, however, so he knew what was coming even before his ass of a sibling even opened his mouth. He violently shook his head, mouthing out a mute ‘don’t’, but it was already too late.

“Dean, meet my brother, Castiel. Cas,  _ this _ is Dean.”

Oh, God.  _ Oh, God _ .

The Adonis turned around, and Castiel’s heart must have skipped at least a dozen beats at the sight of the greenest eyes he had ever seen. The wry little smile the man sent his way when their eyes met rendered every other light source in the workshop completely useless. 

Castiel could feel panic rise when Dean began moving towards him, hand stretched out in a greeting. He knew that he would have to take that hand, would have to  _ touch _ it, but he couldn’t move and he couldn’t look away, lost in the eyes that were now less than five feet away, and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t  _ breathe _ .

“Castiel, huh? Cool name.”

The sound of his name from those lips, his  _ real _ name, spoken as a whole in  _ that _ voice, was almost too much to take. He stared at the face before him, heartbeat like thunder inside his chest as his eyes dropped to the outstretched hand and then moved back up as in trance. He swallowed; mouth gone dry like sandpaper. This couldn’t be. How could this  _ be?  _

Then Dean’s fingers were closing around the back of his hand, and it took Castiel a few moments to realize that he had reached out and reciprocated the other’s handshake without even thinking about it.

“Pleasure,” he mumbled, quickly and in a voice so hoarse he was surprised it could even create sounds.

What was he doing?! He shouldn’t be here, this was too dangerous! If Tiger—no, if  _ Dean _ recognized him here, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to survive it. 

Dean would think that Castiel had hunted him down, stalked him all the way here, and Castiel would never be able to explain in how many ways that was not true. He was not prepared for this, he couldn’t— If Dean realized who he was, he’d— 

All it took was for someone to ask him anything that required him to answer with more than single syllabled words, and then this whole situation would tailspin into a potential disaster. Dean would never forgive him; their entire relationship would be ruined beyond repair. Shit, what was he supposed to  _ do _ ?

Meanwhile, Gabriel was grinning like the damn Cheshire cat over Dean’s shoulder, pointing to the two of them and doing suggestive eyebrow wiggles that made Castiel want to punch him in the face, despite the fact that none of this could actually be happening. 

It had to be a dream. How could it possibly be anything but a dream? Still, the hand grasping his felt disturbingly real... Could it be real?  

If it was, then this was the man who had turned Castiel’s entire world lopsided in just a few groaning breaths. The man who had sent his heart thundering inside his chest so many times…

Just like that, it struck him that if that was indeed the case, then the hand currently clutching around his fingers had been repeatedly used to stroke this man to orgasm with just the help of Castiel’s own voice. 

He abruptly let go of Dean’s hand as he took a staggering step back, barely avoiding to bump his back against the car still parked behind him, sporting a faint pink flush on his cheeks.

“So, Cas.” Dean looked at him, inclining his head to catch Castiel’s eyes, which were now diverted to the floor. “It’s okay if I call you Cas, right?”

“Of course it is,” Gabriel cut in, appearing by Castiel’s side and draping his arm lazily over the younger man’s shoulders in a display of brotherly affection. “We’re practically family, might as well cut off the titles before they stick, right?” 

Dean snorted loudly, turning around to return the screwdriver he was still holding in his left hand to the toolbox by his car while Gabriel beamed a triumphant smile at Castiel. The look he got in return spoke of murder, dark piers and five bags of concrete.

“Anyhow, Cas,” Dean continued, paying Gabriel’s comment little attention. “You don’t have to worry about your wheels. Turns out all you needed was a little gas in the tank.”

Castiel’s head whipped around, staring at Dean in disbelief.

“What?” he choked, completely forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to speak. Gabriel quickly relocated himself to the other side of the workshop, eyeing a piece of an exhaust pipe with overwhelming interest.

“Your tank was empty,” Dean said simply. “Probably siphoned dry by some kids, I’ve heard that’s been happening a lot lately.”

“I see…” Castiel said sternly, sending his brother a look that would have turned a lesser man to stone, but Gabriel just returned it with an innocent smile. Then he started whistling quietly to himself while plucking with a few screws lying on the table.

On second thought, make that seven bags of concrete.

Dean dug his hand into the pocket of his jeans as he sauntered back towards Cas, dangling the keys to Castiel’s car in front of him.

“I filled you up, so she’s all set. And don’t worry about the cost,” he said with a smile along with an appreciative look up and down Cas’s body that cut Castiel’s unspoken question off so fast he barely had time to draw breath. “It’s on the house.”

Castiel quickly averted his gaze from Dean’s eyes, only to find himself helplessly staring at the intoxicatingly lewd stretch of the other man’s mouth instead. Suddenly, his entire being was screaming for him to lean forward; to feel the soft swell of those lips against his own. He wanted to discover their taste and revel in the hot wetness that surely laid behind that dazzling row of teeth, but he stayed put, taking the keys out of Dean’s hand with a mumbled “thanks” and a nod.

“Isn’t that great, bro?” Gabriel chimed from behind Dean’s back. “Too bad Sparky here didn’t get the chance to pop your hood though; I hear he’s a real miracle worker. Boy, the things those hands can do with a bit of lubing.” 

Gabriel winked at Castiel, who responded by trying to fight back a furious blush and glare daggers at him at the same time, knowing exactly what his brother was referring to. Dean, however, didn’t seem to notice the strained atmosphere between the two siblings and just reached up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“Please Chuckles, you’re making me blush here,” he muttered sarcastically. The corner of Castiel’s mouth twitched up into a panicked smile, the hilarious horror of the situation starting to become too much. Oh, he could think of a lot of things that would tint the color of Dean’s cheeks, but a compliment on his mechanic skill wasn’t one of them. He also couldn’t believe he just thought that.

“So there’s nothing wrong with your car, but I did fix a few other things for you,” Dean said, and before Castiel could react or do anything, there was a hand on his shoulder as Dean pulled him towards the car. 

The touch of those fingers burnt straight through his clothing, setting his entire body ablaze. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything but allow himself to be led like a lamb to slaughter, and when Dean opened the door to the driver’s seat, offering Castiel to climb in, he did so without protest.

When Castiel slid past the other’s body, his nose caught on to the scent of oil, gasoline, spearmint gum; and beneath all that, the familiar, tangy smell of citrus and sandalwood from Tiger’s shampoo. They all mixed together into a scent that had his body aching in just the split second it took for him to get behind the wheel, making him want to lean in and inhale as deeply as he could, just to make it last a bit longer. 

It was a good thing he was supposed to be sitting down, because he felt like he was seconds away from fainting right there. He almost jumped out of his skin when Dean suddenly leaned in through the door opening, face only a few inches away from his own, and Castiel couldn’t run, he couldn’t escape, the green of Dean’s eyes being everywhere as they locked on to his.

“I got you an oil change,” Dean said, gesturing to the meters on the panel. “And I topped up the cooler fluid.”

Castiel nodded, squeezing around the steering wheel in his hands, praying to God for something,  _ anything _ to get him out of this mess. He needed to think, to compose himself, but neither of that was possible as long as Dean kept invading his personal space like this. He was too close, so close Castiel could feel the warmth of his breath ghost over his cheek as he spoke, and his knuckles whitened even further. 

“I also worked over the interior for you,” Dean continued. “No offence, but it was about time; your trunk alone was a mess.”

Castiel was about to open his mouth and grate out a short “thank you”, but he only got halfway when the meaning behind those words made impact on his brain. 

Dean had been in his trunk.

Dean had been in his  _ trunk _ . 

The trunk from which he had yet to remove the gym bag that had been left forgotten since his last visit to the company shower room. 

The gym bag currently containing a perfectly sculpted replica of this very man’s  _ cock _ .

Praying to God suddenly didn’t feel like enough of a safety measure anymore.

“So, you like it?” Dean asked and Castiel could only nod, scared to death that if he tried to speak now the only words that would come out of him would be “dildo”, or possibly “rubber penis”; none of them being very good alternatives at the moment.

_ I have this man’s dick in my trunk. _

He would never make it out of this garage alive. 

He could see Gabriel over the ridge of Dean’s shoulder; the shorter man desperately trying to stifle a wide grin by rubbing his hand against his mouth. Castiel was so going to kill him once they got out of here; in less than an hour Gabriel would be a dead man. Gabriel must have caught on to the look in his baby brother’s eyes, because he started backing away shortly afterwards, heading for the door.

“I guess I’ll get going then,” he announced loudly. “I’ll catch you later, Deano, thanks for the help.”

“Sure, whatever,” Dean threw back over his shoulder, not allowing his gaze to leave Castiel’s face for as much as a second, but Gabriel was already gone, the door closing with a low squeak of the hinges behind him on the way out.

They were alone.

Oh, God, they were alone.

Dean shot him a smile that made Castiel’s toes curl. He felt like he should say something, but for the life of him he couldn’t come up with anything. He silently cursed Gabriel for putting him in this situation; the dick could at least have  _ warned  _ him! But then, of course, where would the fun in that be?

His hands slid lower on the wheel, palms sweating furiously. He could feel the moisture that had begun to collect at his temple and neck, sending chills down his spine. He licked his lips, but his tongue provided no moisture, rasping dryly against chapped skin as he searched his brain, desperately trying to come up with a topic that wouldn’t blow his fragile cover to pieces. 

It was Dean who broke the silence, though, unknowingly coming to his rescue.

“Your brother’s quite a pain in the ass, huh?”

The bluntness caught Castiel off guard and he snorted in spite of his imminent panic.

“You have no idea,” he mumbled. Dean chuckled and shook his head, leaning heavier on the frame of the car, his head dipping in lower through the opening of the door.

“Oh, I think I can imagine. My own ain’t exactly a saint.”

“Brothers are not supposed to be,” Castiel agreed, forcing his raspy voice up an octave or two.

“True,” Dean agreed, smiling even wider. “Though sometimes I wish they’d just mind their own business, you know?”

Castiel nodded. Oh, didn’t he know it, though at the moment his feelings were a bit torn on the subject.

“So, you’ve got your apartment back yet?” Dean asked and this time Castiel didn’t need to fake a higher register.

“W—what?”

“Sam told me you’ve been living with your brother for a while. Something about a leak in your apartment?”

Castiel’s insides completely iced over. The leak. Oh, good God, had he mentioned the leak? Did Tiger know about the leak?! 

Raking through his memories of the last six months he groped after any mention of the reason as to why he had been in the company’s shower room to begin with, but he couldn’t recall a thing. Oh dear, please don’t let Dean have recognized that. Please make it so that Castiel had managed to keep his mouth shut!

“Uhm… Yes. I did, but it’s fixed now.”

“Glad to hear that,” Dean smiled. “Can’t imagine how it must have been, living with him for all that time.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Castiel objected and Dean’s eyebrows shot up in impressed surprise.

“Really? Wow, you must have the mentality of a saint.”

_ Or an angel… _ Castiel thought to himself, not without irony.

“You get used to it. He tires eventually, after a month or two.” He smiled to himself and Dean laughed, eyes sparkling and sending delightful tremors through Castiel’s body. 

Oh, how he had missed that laugh. How he had missed  _ this _ ; the talking and teasing. It all flowed so smoothly, so  _ naturally _ . How did he ever think he would be able to live without this?

Dean looked at him, eyes crinkling at the edges from a smile that Castiel would have been content watching for the rest of his life, but sadly the close proximity to those lips made it a very dangerous business to undertake. There was a lump in his throat, threatening to choke him, and a pulling in his lower abdomen that made him want to lean his head back and groan. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and this time Dean’s eyes locked on to the movement, his own lips parting a little in the process.

“So… what’s happening?” he asked and Castiel could have sworn that the other’s voice just dropped an entire octave, turning the question into a smoothed out purr.

“Happening?” Castiel breathed, his eyes struggling to rip away from the sight of that mesmerizing mouth.

“Yeah, you know.” Dean chuckled a little, the sound of his puffed out breath shooting straight south through Castiel’s body. “Like for the weekend? You got plans? Somewhere to be?”

“No… No, not really.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Dean pushed away from the car and stretched, arching his back like an enormous jungle cat. Cas could barely hold back a whimper at the display before him, and then Dean relaxed with a content sigh, coming down to eye level with the man inside the car once more.

”I’m thinking about spending Saturday night on the couch watching an old movie or something,” he announced. “Maybe you should do the same?”

“It sounds relaxing,” Castiel agreed quietly.

Something sparked in those green eyes the very moment the words left Castiel’s mouth, and Cas’s breath hitched. Had Dean just indirectly asked him out? 

Was Dean flirting with him? 

Holy shit, were they  _ flirting? _

Then suddenly Dean’s smile faltered and he groaned, pulling away.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry.” 

For a moment, Castiel had no idea what he was talking about. Then Dean whipped out a rag from his back pocket, reached in and grabbed Castiel’s hand of the wheel and started wiping it off. It wasn’t until then that Castiel noticed the smudged out handprint that had been left behind on the steering wheel, realizing that the grease on Dean’s hands must have rubbed off on Castiel’s own when they greeted each other earlier.

“It comes out easily, I swear.” Dean fidgeted with the rag and Castiel just stared at the fingers clutching around his hand.

“It’s alright,” he tried, but Dean’s eyes rose from his hand to his face. He winced, gesturing towards Castiel’s upper arm where another dark handprint had been smudged over the fabric.

“Aw, fuck, it’s all over your suit too!”

“There’s really no need to worry,” Castiel assured him. “It’s just a cheap suit anyway.”

“Here, let me get the wheel for you.”

Without warning, Dean dove into the car and started wiping the steering wheel down. Castiel pressed himself back into his seat, trying to give him room, but the narrow space made it very hard. 

Dean’s arms brushed against his chest and Cas was painfully aware of the heat radiating off the other’s body, pulsating against him and burning straight through his clothes. Dean’s face was just an inch away from his own now, and he could see every single detail with painstaking clarity; from the small grains on the stubble of his cheeks to the thick eyelashes lowering over well defined cheekbones. 

How easy would it be just to reach out, turn that head to the side and press those full lips against his? How easy would it be to just tell Dean everything, to come clean; explaining that he had an ass of a brother who, just like Dean’s, couldn’t stay out of other people’s business? 

His fingers twitched against his knees, and his heart was pounding a staggering beat against his ribcage. He was surprised that Dean couldn’t hear it. They were so close, he should be able to hear everything; every single thrum of the staccato reverberating from inside Castiel’s chest. 

“Dean…”

“Yeah?”

Green eyes shifted towards him, head turning, but not pulling back. They were so close, so incredibly close, and Dean’s breath was on Castiel’s face, hot, and sweet, and  _ there _ . Castiel’s right hand came up, aiming to grasp around Dean’s jaw, but instead found the steering wheel again, fingers latching on so hard around the leather that Castiel doubted he would ever be able to let go of it again.

Castiel stared at him, and Dean looked straight back. There was something there, something within the mossy depths of those eyes that made Castiel’s entire body freeze up, unable to move. He watched Dean tilt his head, upper body shifting towards him in slow motion, and he couldn't bring himself to say or do anything to stop it. His lips parted with the whisper of a breath, and Dean was moving closer, eyes locked, asking for permission, and Castiel gave it, oh, God help him, he gave it.

Dean’s eyes flickered to his lips and then up again, the warmth of his breath radiating against Castiel’s face. Then Dean’s gaze seemed to catch on to something in Castiel’s own eyes and he sucked in a breath so sharp it made Castiel’s heart jump.

“Fuck, your eyes…” Dean groaned, and the new, husky dimension of his voice made Castiel’s stomach pull tight in something that could have been pain, if only it hadn’t felt so good. 

Castiel swallowed, eyes flickering, tongue darting out in a desperate attempt to moisten his chapped lips, but barely working. Dean blinked and swallowed too; the sharp jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat. When he spoke next there was something new to his voice that cracked the words on their way past his lips.

“Wow… They’re really… I mean, they’re—”

Suddenly Dean was out of the car, and the retracted heat from his body left Castiel shivering in the front seat.

“I’m sorry.” Dean pulled his hands through his hair, leaving strands of it to spike out in oily tussles in the wake of his fingers. “I didn’t mean to be all— Fuck, I’m sorry…!”

Castiel watched as Dean backed away, eyes darting around the workshop, looking everywhere except at him. Castiel couldn’t move from his spot inside the car, knuckles white around the steering wheel with the other hand fisted in his trench coat. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say, how to  _ react, _ because he had no idea what was happening.

Dean must have noticed his confusion, because he groaned again, burying his face in his hands.

“It’s just— You reminded me of someone and I— I’m so  _ stupid… _ ” He cut himself off and looked up. The light that had been in his eyes just moments ago was gone, the green color now directed at him dull and murky. Castiel could see the once so gleeful shimmer die when their eyes met, like the final, gasping flicker at the wick of a blown out candle.

“You should go,” Dean grated out, politely but firm. “Don’t wanna keep your brother waiting.” 

Castiel stared at him, stunned to silence, mind working frantically to catch up with the situation. His thoughts were screaming that something had just gone horribly, horribly wrong. Dean was asking him to leave. Why did he want him to leave? What did he  _ do? _

“Dean…”

“It was nice meeting you, Cas.”

And that, right there, was a good bye as much as anything; the broad planes of Dean’s shoulders tense and rigid as he turned his back to Castiel and disappeared below the hood of his own car. 

Castiel’s mind went numb.

He had no memory of closing the car door, or sliding the key in to turn on the ignition. He couldn’t recall how he backed out of the garage, or maneuvered himself up through the narrow row of cars lined up on the yard of Singer’s Salvage. 

When his brain finally kicked back in, he was driving down the same dirt road he and Gabriel had come from earlier. He was so far gone that he almost missed that his brother was parked by an intersection further ahead, waiting for him while leaning comfortably against his own car.

Castiel’s foot hit the brake so hard the car almost spun out of control on the gravel, halting less than a foot away from his brother’s rear bumper. He was out of the car in a flash, shoving Gabriel up against the door panel to the other’s car so hard the entire vehicle swayed.

“You son of a bitch!” he growled, fingers twisting the fabric of Gabriel’s shirt, teeth bared in a snarl that in no way matched the smirk on his brother’s face.

“Hey, easy there, bro. No need to get touchy.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just punch your face in right now!”

Gabriel frowned, looking at Castiel as if he just asked him the dumbest question in the world.

“What’s with the tantrum?” he asked. “Dude, I  _ found  _ him for you, you should be thanking me.”

“ _ Thanking _ you?!”

Gabriel stumbled when Castiel threw him to the side, but he remained upright, smoothly spinning around and holding his hands out in front of him in defense.

“Okay, so maybe it was a bit blunt, but I wanted to surprise you,” he offered. Castiel glared at him, hands balling into fists by his sides.

“Well, congratulations, you did,” he snapped. “You  _ idiot! _ Do you have  _ any  _ idea what would have happened had he recognized me?!”

At that, the amused glint that had been residing in Gabriel’s eyes shifted, turning into a sharp gleam like that of a blade, followed by a dangerous tightening of his jaw.

“As a matter of fact, I think I have a pretty good idea,” he retorted, voice hard. “Question is; do you?” 

The response took Castiel aback for a moment, his mouth clamping shut when his older brother straightened up. 

“If I had told you where we were going—who we were about to meet—then you would never have come with me, and you know it,” Gabriel said sharply. “ _ Look _ at you. You’ve been down so low you’ve been staring up at the soles of your shoes for over a month. I’m not stupid Cas, I  _ know. _ I  _ see, _ and right now I see you showing more spirit than you have since the time I filled the vent in your car with baby powder.” He spat the last thing out like an insult. 

“So by all means, go ahead and tell me; which part of seeing him again could  _ possibly  _ have made things  _ worse _ for you?”

Castiel glared at him, nostrils flaring and lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t say anything. The air between them had grown thick and loaded, like the silence before the first flash of a thunderstorm, and Gabriel’s eyes were like molten steel, glowing like embers in the setting sun as they stared Castiel down.

The line of Castiel’s jaw was hard, his shoulders squared. To most people it would have been a terrifying sight to be faced with, but Gabriel didn’t even falter. He pinned Castiel to the dirt road beneath their feet with his gaze alone, holding him there while Castiel tried desperately to find the right words to explain what he was feeling. 

“You don’t understand—” he tried, but Gabriel interrupted him.

“Don’t understand what?” he asked defiantly. “That you love him? Because that’s old news, bro.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Castiel found himself squirming, eyes darting to the side to escape the cold fire in Gabriel’s stare. He had never been able to lie to Gabriel, not even about the simplest things. Gabriel saw everything. Always.

“Castiel.”

Cas looked up, a painful clench twisting in his stomach. Gabriel never addressed him using his full name. Not since that night all those years ago when they had escaped the torment of their older brother. The night they had celebrated Gabriel’s sixteenth birthday at a bus stop downtown with a pack of skittles and the soda Gabriel had kicked out of a vending machine in the subway. 

Right now Gabriel was looking at him the same way he had back then, eyes glassy with so many unsaid things pressing behind those hazel mirrors that Castiel could barely stand the sight of them. Because Castiel had never been able to lie to Gabriel, and Gabriel had never in his life lied to Castiel, not when it really mattered. And this, this right here,  _ mattered _ .

“He’s right  _ there _ , you moron.” 

It took everything Castiel had to keep himself from turning his eyes over his shoulder, to gaze down the road to Singer’s Salvage from where he had just come.

“All you have to do is go back there and get him.”

“I can’t.” Cas hated himself for the wounded whimper in his voice, but he couldn’t hold it back, and he could almost  _ feel  _ Gabriel roll his eyes at him.

“That again? Really?” When Castiel didn’t answer, Gabriel sighed and threw his hands out to the side in resignation.

“Fine, I wasn’t going to say anything, but apparently this ain’t going anywhere unless I do.”

“Say anything about what?” Castiel frowned. Gabriel gave him a long look, then he swaggered past him and jumped up to sit on the trunk of his car, resting his feet on Castiel’s bumper. For several minutes he just sat there and stared towards the horizon, squinting in the light of the setting sun. After a while, Castiel joined him, climbing on top of the car and settling beside his brother in silence, a confused furrow on his brow. 

Out here in the warmth of the fading summer, the events in the garage seemed like a distant memory, or a dream that had already begun to fade away. Castiel looked down at the palm of his hand, at the dark streaks of oil that had nestled themselves into the fine lines of his palm. 

For a moment he felt like he was going to lose his balance altogether, the sight of Dean’s legacy on his skin being too much to handle. He brought his hand up and rubbed it against his neck, trying to will the goosebumps prickling the skin there away, but without success. The hand then slowly crept down the jut of his collar to gently fold over the smudged out handprint that was still curled around the curve of his upper arm and shoulder. He took a deep shuddering breath, feeling the shock as it began to settle in his system, bringing a fine tremble to his limbs.

“You haven’t asked me how I found him yet,” Gabriel murmured quietly and Cas flinched despite himself. He didn’t answer though, and after a moment Gabriel continued on his own.

“It was Sam,” he confessed, sighing as if he would have preferred to have found the truth out on his own rather than being told by his boyfriend. 

“He told me that his brother had been fired and that he was really broken up about it. I didn’t give it much of a thought at first, just thinking the dude seemed a bit too attached to his job…” He leaned back, tilting his head up to the sky. “Then Sam told me that his brother used to work late. That he stayed behind to use the company shower every Friday. Apparently it was impossible to make him skip it.” A golden brown eye peered open at him. “Sound like anyone you know?” he asked.

Castiel swallowed hard, and Gabriel nodded

“Putting two and two together after that wasn’t hard. I just had to get you out here somehow. Like I said, picking you up and telling you straight out would only have given you the shakes and  _ that _ …” he pointed at the tip of his nose. “…would without a doubt have ended in disaster.”

Now it was Castiel’s turn to nod, because of course, it was true. The shock alone was probably the only thing that had enabled him to function at all inside that garage. Gabriel knew it. They both knew it.

“So. I’ve told you how I found him…” Gabriel turned towards him, face still serious but with a smirk playing in the golden tones of his eyes. ”Now you tell me how come you’re not spread eagle on the hood of that Chevy right now with his tongue down your throat?”

“Gabriel!” Castiel gasped, but his brother only shrugged.

“What? It’s a perfectly legitimate question! I literally served you the guy of your dreams on a silver platter, and you didn’t even stay behind to give him a little tongue fondling?”

Castiel grimaced at his brother’s use of words; his glare marred by the blush creeping up his cheeks. The look Gabriel sent his way was almost painful.

“Please tell me you at least scored a date with the man?” he asked. Castiel’s tongue swiped out to moisten his lips, but when he didn’t answer, Gabriel sent an incredulous groan to the sky. 

“I swear, sometimes I can’t believe that you and I are even related.”

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual,” Castiel assured him.

“So what now?” Gabriel leaned back, resting his shoulders and neck against the rear window. “You know where he’s holding up, you know his name… Where do you plan to go from here?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel mumbled and Gabriel groaned.

“What is there to know? C’mon, Cas, he’s literally. Right.  _ There _ .”

“I’ve already told you that it’s complicated.”

“Oh, really? Then let me  _ uncomplicate _ it for you.” Gabriel sat back up and canted his head down, forcing Castiel’s eyes to meet with his. “Dean  _ misses you _ , jackass!” 

Castiel’s eyes widened and Gabriel caught the poorly contained hitch of his brother’s breath. 

“Sam told me your little boyfriend’s been housing the temperament of a rattlesnake ever since he got fired. He snaps at people, throws tantrums and lashes out without explanation, and every single time, do you know what he does afterwards?”

Castiel looked away, but Gabriel’s eyes were fixed on his face, like a laser tracking and analyzing every single twitch and pull of the muscles there, and Cas tensed. He didn’t know what his brother was about to say, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know either, but he  _ needed _ to, so he held his breath, waiting for the inevitable blow. When it finally came, it knocked the air out of him completely.

“He takes a shower.” 

The words resonated through his entire body, rung out with the sound of clanging steel mixed with the memory of Dean’s voice from before, and it made him suck in a loud breath between his teeth.

_ You reminded me of someone… _

His eyes. Dean had been looking at his eyes.

_ Your eyes… Wow… they’re really—  _

“Blue.” He said it out loud, the nickname falling from his lips in a punched out breath at the same time as a faint flicker of hope ignited somewhere inside his chest.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

Gabriel was still watching him, he could tell without looking. Castiel’s reaction seemed to please him, and he pulled back once more to lean against the windshield of his car, staring up at the darkening sky with a satisfied smile on his lips. 

He barely had the time to settle there before a guitar riff shattered the silence, the tones of some 70’s rock band bursting from the phone in Gabriel’s jeans. He dug the device out and took a look at the screen, lips twitching up at the sight of whoever was calling. He brought the phone to his ear, interrupting the singer that had just begun to apologize for something he had done that he apparently didn’t mean.

“Hi, Babe,” he chirped. “Listen, can I call you back, this is a bit of—”

He cut himself off and Castiel was ripped from the lingering shock of his brother’s previous revelation when he heard the voice on the other side of the line give a snappy response, clearly informing Gabriel that calling back later was not even being brought up for discussion right now.

He watched his brother’s smile falter, slowly being replaced with a confused scowl.

“Yeah, I’m with Cas, we just picked up his car. Sam, what—“ Once again, he was cut off in the middle of his sentence, and on the other end of the line Sam’s voice grew even louder. Castiel watched Gabriel’s face blanch a little and then, honest to God, his brother nodded into the phone like a school boy who had just been scolded by the teacher.

“We’re on our way,” he said shortly. Cas could hear the monotonous tone blaring from his brother’s phone seconds later, announcing that Sam had already hung up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

Gabriel stared at the phone in his hand as if he expected it to jump up and bite a big chunk out of his face at any second.

“I have absolutely no idea,” he confessed slowly. “But he sounded pissed.”

He jumped off the trunk and walked around to the driver’s side.

“Get a move on, Sam wants to see us right away.”

“Us?” Castiel asked, confused as he jumped off and began moving towards his own car.

“Yeah, he told me to bring you with me. It was the only thing he was actually being clear on.”

Castiel gulped. From the way Sam had been sounding, he was not entirely sure that his requested presence meant good things for him.

Oh, no, what if Dean had phoned Sam for some reason and… No, that was stupid. Dean had no idea that Cas and Blue were the same person, why would he tell his brother…? Then again, Cas told  _ his _ brother, so there was always a possibility that Dean had done the same… but why would Sam get pissed at Cas even if he had? 

What if Dean had recognized him? He had noticed his eyes… Or perhaps he just remembered that Blue also had a leak in his apartment? Or recognized his voice maybe? Damn it, he knew he had been talking too much! Oh, sweet Jesus, Dean  _ knew _ ! He  _ knew, _ and he had phoned Sam and now— To be honest he had absolutely no idea what was happening; only that he didn’t like it.

He watched Gabriel get into his car and start the motor up, so he quickly got into his own and did the same. As he gripped the wheel to follow his brother down the road back to town, he could feel Dean’s phantom breath ghost across his face, and he suppressed the urge to shudder. 

The longing for Dean’s touch returned with renewed strength, but he fought it back, pressing his right foot down a little bit harder instead, causing the car to skid back out on the road with an angry growl. He didn’t dare indulge in the thought of such things before he knew what Sam’s call had been about. If things turned out to be bad, then he wasn’t sure if his heart would be able to handle such a letdown… The hollow sound of Dean’s voice and the memory of those squared shoulders were painful enough. 

He tried not to linger on the fact that this meant that his future now rested within the palms of a giant, who had just ended a very upset call by doing the cellphone version of slamming the phone down on his boyfriend’s ear. If this indeed turned out to be something bad, he might not have to worry about potential heartbreak after all—Sam might simply snap his spine like a twig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank so much for reading. Let me know what you think, okay? <3


	8. 8

It turned out that Gabriel had his own key to Sam’s apartment, but as normal as that would seem, Castiel still felt like an intruder when he followed his brother in through the front door.

The place was not much different from Gabriel’s own. It was a one bedroom apartment, though the living room was longer, and a bit narrower. The kitchen was bigger, with dark grey cabinets instead of Gabriel’s red ones, and the round table that graced the kitchen was—in constrast to Gabriel’s square, close to spartanly bare one—barely visible beneath the monumental heap of papers and folders that currently resided upon it. 

A laptop whirred somewhere in the middle of the chaos, and together with the tall lamp by the sofa and the ceiling light in the kitchen, it was the only light source currently operative in the dusk of the apartment.

Sam emerged from the bedroom the moment the door closed behind them, and had it not been for the protective barrier that was Gabriel separating them, Castiel would have turned tail and fled right back out to the street. There were few things he had come across in his life that were scarier than the prospect of having a 6.4 foot tall, pissed off giant come barging straight towards you down the narrow space of a corridor.

Luckily for Cas however, it wasn’t the trench coat wearing brother Sam was aiming for, but his sibling.

“You!” he spat, and a finger the size of a small loaf of bread came up to point Gabriel in the face. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” 

Gabriel didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, but an indignant frown appeared on his face as he gently steered the offensive digit away with the back of his hand.

“Whoa there, kiddo,” he soothed. “What’s going on?”

“How about you tell me?” Sam bit back, swatting Gabriel’s hand away as if the mere touch of it was an insult. Gabriel’s confusion was evident, and he eyed his boyfriend’s hostile face warily.

“Sorry, babe,” he apologized slowly. “But I honestly have  _ no _ idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about your  _ brother _ , Gabe!” Sam snarled. Castiel’s heart could not have dropped faster had it been made out of stone.

“Cas?” Gabriel frowned even deeper and threw a confused look at his brother over his shoulder. If he was thinking the same thing as Castiel, then at least he wasn’t showing it. “What about him?”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw clenching threateningly.

“When exactly were you planning to tell me?” he hissed, and in response Gabriel threw his hands out to the side in what even Castiel would have taken for complete innocence.

“Tell you  _ what _ ? Sam, I don’t—“

“That he’s a goddamn  _ board member! _ ” 

Castiel blinked. Okay, so that was not what he had expected to hear. Neither had Gabriel, it seemed,  because for a few seconds he just stood there, gaping in silence.

“Well… yeah,” he said, stumped. “He is, but what does that have to—”

“Cut the bullshit, Gabriel.” 

Gabe shut his mouth with a faint click of teeth. If possible, Sam seemed to grow even more enormous as he towered over the smaller man, Gabriel’s average height barely capable of bringing him up to eye level with Sam’s shirt clad chest.

“I told you,” he growled, the words dragging out through his teeth like poison. “I _ told you _ . You knew how bad my brother took it when he lost his job. You  _ knew, _ and still you couldn’t find the goddamn time to tell me that your  _ brother _ is a member of the board that got him fired?”

Castiel swallowed hard when the angry finger from before suddenly pointed at him. 

“Were you even going to?” Sam demanded, eyes flashing dark, hot anger seething in the normally so cheerful depths.

Now, for the record, it should be said that Gabriel had spent most of his childhood years with taller, older, and significantly stronger people yelling at him over very short distances. Some of those verbal fights had even escalated into physical violence, so it was understandable that he wasn’t showing the same kind of dread for Sam that Castiel was. However, none of those formerly mentioned people had ever been tall or big enough to successfully manage the feat of tossing Gabriel out of the room using only one hand, so when Gabriel spoke next, he made sure to choose his words  _ very _ carefully, and deliver them with as much delicacy as his blunt personality could manage.

“To be completely honest with you…” he started warily. “The thought never even crossed my mind.  _ Because _ ,” he continued, cutting Sam’s protest off. “I can  _ promise you _ that the fact that Castiel is on the board, had  _ nothing _ to do with your brother getting fired.”

“You think so?” Sam snarled, causing Gabriel’s eyes to narrow into a squint.

“I know so,” he answered firmly. “Besides, if the majority of the board really wanted to pass the  cutback motion, then he couldn’t have done anything to prevent it anyway.”

“Really?” Sam turned to the table, grabbed a large paper portfolio out of the heap and held it up, fingers digging into the paper hard enough to dent it. “He could have started by not voting  _ yes _ .”

He shoved the thick folder into Gabriel’s arms, and Gabe caught it with a confused frown, waiting for further explanation. When none came, he looked down at the folder in his hands, eyeing it suspiciously before slowly opening it up. 

He began pawing through the first few papers, gaze darting over words and paragraphs, the frown on his brow staying firmly in place until his eyes suddenly widened, disbelief gleaming sharp and clear like a knife in pools of golden brown.

“You see.” Sam looked almost obnoxiously smug in his triumph. “It’s all right there.”

“This is fake,” Gabriel deadpanned, slamming the folder shut with a sharp snap. “They’ve added that part afterwards, Cas wouldn’t—“

“Read it properly,” Sam snarled. “He knew  _ exactly _ what he was doing!”

It was like watching a thunderstorm roll in over the room, the razor sharp glint in Sam’s eyes forcing Castiel to fight a sudden urge to curl himself into a little ball, right there on the living room floor. Sam’s anger was evident, almost touchable, and seeing the normally so gentle man in such a state of emotional rage was even worse than the prospects of getting pummeled into the nearest wall by those gigantic fists. It was painful to watch, even so when Sam turned towards him, the full force behind that cruel stare hitting Castiel like a punch to the gut.

“Real neat trick by the way,” Sam snorted, regarding him with all the warmth of an ice block. “First you get him fired, and now he’s fixing your car.” Sharp eyes narrowed dangerously. “Real classy.”

Gabriel’s hands twitched around the folder he was holding, his face hard and jaw set. For a moment he looked torn between the urge to smack his boyfriend over the head with the solid stack of papers still in his grasp, and the desire to toss it aside and cuddle him into a soothing hug.

“Sam, you’re being ridiculous,“ he said. “Cas didn’t even know about your brother until today, I was the one who—”

“Gabriel.”

Gabe’s head whipped around when Castiel spoke, a thousand protests flashing across his face.

“But—“ he started, stopping when Castiel held up a hand to silence him.

“Sam’s right.” Castiel said, turning to look the other in the eyes. “About everything.”

Sam’s shoulders squared, muscles coiling aggressively beneath red plaid, but before he had the chance to say anything else Castiel added:

“Everything, except for the fact that those protocols  _ are _ , indeed, fake, and that I, like many others, actually voted no.”

Sam’s mouth opened to say something, but Castiel walked right past him, confidently grabbing the portfolio out of Gabriel's hands. Trying his best to ignore the way Sam was glaring at, him he turned to look the taller man in the eye, noting how Sam still had his hands clenched by his sides, as if not sure what else to do with them.

“You got these from the archives at human resources, correct?” he asked. Sam’s jaw flexed, the tendons in his neck tensing. For a moment he seemed to contemplate on whether he should answer the question or not, but then he finally managed to grit out a stern:

“Yes.”

Castiel shook his head, still not breaking eye contact.

“That’s not where you’re supposed to be looking.”

“Excuse me?” Sam snorted, but this time Castiel didn’t even flinch, suddenly calm and at ease, feeling confidence relax and soothe his nerves.

Now when he knew what this was all about, he could work with it, and this, he knew exactly how to handle. This wasn’t personal—it was  _ business, _ and if there was one thing Castiel was good at, it was that. 

“These.” He waved the folder at the remaining mess on the table, “are not the original meeting protocols. They’re the adjusted copies used as reference material for future meetings. If you’d gotten hold of the originals, you would have seen that not only did I vote  _ against _ the motion for more cutbacks, but so did many others—even though sadly, we weren’t enough to stop the motion from being voted through.”

Sam’s eyes flickered between Castiel and the stack of papers, visibly torn between the anger he had most likely spent the entire evening working up, and the insight of this new information.

As the brothers watched, his shoulders slowly began to slouch, the hostility falling away like a cloak slowly dropping to the floor, rendering him deflated like a popped balloon. 

“So if those are fake,” Gabriel said slowly. “Then where are the originals?”

There were simply no words to describe the gratitude Castiel felt towards his obnoxious older brother in that moment; the unspoken support almost like a physical hand on his shoulder.

He flicked his eyes towards Sam, hesitant. He wanted nothing more than to tell them that he didn’t know, having no desire to drag the younger Winchester further into this mess. Then his eyes slid over to rest upon the chaos on the kitchen table, and he realized that Sam would never let this go. 

Sam wouldn't stop digging until he had found out exactly what had happened to his older brother, and that venture would put him at an even bigger risk than sharing the information with him now would. Perhaps, by telling him the truth, Cas would at least be able to stop Sam from doing something overly reckless. 

“They’re stored in a separate database. It's connected directly to the laptop used by the secretary to transcribe the meetings.” He tossed the folder down onto the kitchen table from where Sam had picked it up. “It registers the individual taps of the keyboard through software that downloads the information directly to the mainframe. Every typo, every grammatical error and every backtrace is registered there.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up in an impressed arch as he stared at Castiel in surprised awe.

“Cassie,” he said, almost sounding proud. “I didn’t know you were such a techie?”

“I’m not,” Castiel deferred dryly. “I looked that particular piece of information up a long time ago.”

“Why?” Sam cut in, voice not as hard as before, but still with a suspicious edge to it. Castiel flashed an annoyed look his way.

“Because our beloved CEO is using the software to abuse the system, that’s why,” he retorted, growing impatient with the other’s hostility, understandable as it was. 

“All of this.” He gestured to the mountain of paperwork. “Is all just a vast collection of lies; lies that I unfortunately can’t prove. Others have tried, and they’ve been forced to leave just as abruptly as your brother. The cutbacks, the faked protocols; it’s all done for a reason. I just can’t seem to figure out why.” 

Sam seemed to contemplate this information for a moment, chewing the inside of his left cheek while keeping his gaze locked on the folders in front of them.

“So this storage in the mainframe,” he thought out loud. “You’re saying the real protocols are kept there?”

“Yes.” 

“Then why not print them out? Reveal the scam and send the douchebag packing?”

“Because I can’t,” Castiel sighed. “The only one with access-codes to the mainframe storage is Zachariah himself. And a handful of others who’re most likely in on the whole thing. I would have to hack the mainframe, but sadly I can barely handle an electric shaver on my own… And it’s not like I can put up ads on the bulletin board in the cafeteria requesting the help.”

“So, you did what instead?” Sam muttered. “You just let Zachariah have at it while you shrugged it off, getting comfy in your corner office?”

“I laid low,” Castiel glared at Sam. Apparently the look had more of an edge to it than he had intended, because Sam immediately shut his mouth and literally shrunk under his gaze. 

“I waited,” Castiel continued, softer. “I kept my eyes open while looking for the right moment.” He sighed mournfully. “Unfortunately, it never came…” 

He glanced at the heap of papers once more. 

“What about you?” he asked. “What compelled you to go digging through the company’s dirty laundry?”

Sam chewed at his bottom lip and shrugged.

“I overheard some stuff at work and got curious. So I just… grabbed hold of the first loose end I could find and started pulling.”

“I take it from the looks of your kitchen that you found something more than just faked meeting protocols?” Castiel inquired, already knowing the answer from the way the corner of Sam’s lip quirked up in response.

“You might say that…” He gestured for them to come closer as he walked over to the laptop, fingers already rapping swiftly over the keys before he was fully seated in his chair.

“I also thought there might be more to these cutbacks than meets the eye,” he said, windows and broken pieces of code flashing over the screen before their eyes as he talked. “I searched for a pattern; dates, names, years of employment, the whole nine yards, but I couldn’t find anything. So I did complete scan with a system I built, cross-referencing all the information I could get my hands on. That’s when I found it.” 

A list popped up on the screen, name upon name stacked over one another in a long, long row.

“You see?” Sam asked, pointing to a field right next to one of the names, marked with an X. “None of the people Zachariah fired were connected to the union.”

Castiel watched as Sam clicked a button on the screen, the order of the names changing, every name marked with an X now lining up in a neat line. All of them followed by the ominous word ‘terminated’.

“It makes sense,” Cas agreed quietly. “They would have no one to represent them in a conflict with the company, making them less likely to put up a fight.”

“Exactly.” Sam nodded. “But there’s another thing. None of the people who were fired had been employed for less than five years. So I asked myself; what happens when you’ve been working at Edenstar for more than five years?”

“You get a free dinner?” Gabriel pitched in from the counter behind them, not even bothering to look up from the chocolate bar he had managed to swipe from one of Sam’s kitchen cupboards. The other two ignored him.

“Term of notice,” Castiel suddenly mumbled. “It goes up from one month to three.”

Sam raised a finger.

“Right, so I checked it out.  Guess how many of the people who got fired actually received all three months?”

Castiel looked at him, brow furrowed.

“ _ None _ .” Sam smirked dryly. “They were all forced to leave the very same day; no notice, no warning whatsoever.”

“That is not an unusual thing,” Castiel reasoned warily. “People can be ordered off the worksite the same day they receive their notice.”

“I know, but when that happens, they're still supposed to get paid for the remaining three months, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Dean wasn’t.”

Castiel frowned, glancing at Sam from the corner of his eye.

“None of them were,” Sam continued, and Castiel could see how the unfairness in that statement seemed to eat at the young man from within. 

“Dean was told that the money was going to be withheld to pay for the losses he had caused the company, and that he should be lucky they didn’t sue him for more. I tried to tell him that it was illegal for them to do so, but… he said he didn’t want to start a fight.”

“I see…” Castiel bit the inside of his cheek, his hand forming a fist by his side. He knew the reason to why Dean had not wanted to start a conflict with Edenstar about  _ anything _ , but he couldn’t reveal how he had found that out, especially not to Sam.

What else had Dean sacrificed in order to keep his brother safe in all this? And here Castiel was, slowly pushing said brother closer towards the very same conflict against the will of his own kin… Would Dean forgive him if he knew? Would he understand that this was safer than letting Sam loose on the company all by himself? 

He could remember the sound of Dean’s voice from that day as clearly as if the man had been standing there right beside him. That strong, confident tone shattered into such heartbroken despair. Defeated. 

The knuckles of his hand crackled when his fist hardened even further. Sam was precious to Dean; someone Dean considered worth losing everything for, and Castiel would be damned if he wasn’t going to do his best to protect him throughout this.

He looked at Gabriel. He had not mentioned Dean’s ultimatum to his brother when coming clean about the reason to his mood lately, and perhaps it was just as well. 

Dean still had Zachariah’s threat hanging like a chain around his neck; a chain the company could yank at will, keeping him bound to them even after Dean’s dismissal, but Gabriel… 

Gabriel would work them over like a rabid pit bull released from its cage if he ever found out about the way they had threatened Sam. There would be nothing left but a shredded, bloodstained suit once he was done.

Somehow, Castiel didn’t find the thought as repulsive as he knew he probably should.

“I compared the paychecks of the people fired, with the papers from human resources,” Sam continued, not taking any note of Castiel’s sudden silence. “It says right here that they all got paid up until the day they were forced to quit, and then the sum of paid salary all say the same thing. ‘After reduced sum, according to agreement’, always followed by a big, fat zero.”

“So, if they never got their money,” Castiel thought out loud. “Then where did the money go?”

Sam nodded, still eagerly typing.

“I thought the same thing. So I hacked into a few people’s bank accounts—”

“You  _ what _ ?!” Gabriel croaked, almost falling off the counter.

“Calm down, I didn’t steal anything,” Sam objected, but Gabe just stared at him in disbelief.

“Where the hell did you learn how to hack  _ bank accounts? _ ”

“I specialize in computerized security; it’s my job to know how to hack into things.”

“Yeah, but  _ bank accounts _ ?” Gabriel gaped again, an impressed undertone sneaking itself into his voice. “Remind me to let you pay next time we go out for dinner.”

“I always pay,” Sam protested loudly. “And it’s not like I do this on a regular basis. Or ever.”

“One time is enough if you get caught,” Gabe pointed out sourly, his tone taking a turn for the serious. “I’m not bailing you out of jail if that’s what you think.”

“I won’t get caught, Gabe.” Sam rolled his eyes to the ceiling, ignoring the smaller man’s crude attempt to express his concern. “And I know it’s illegal, but just take a look at what I found.” He turned the laptop around, allowing Gabriel to get a more detailed view.

“You see it?” he urged as Gabe squinted his eyes, leaning in closer in order to see the text printed over the page.

“I do,” Castiel rumbled, turning the laptop back, glaring at the name announcing the owner of the account they were viewing. “Zachariah…”

Gabriel whistled.

“So Mr. Cue Ball's been fixing himself up with a little extra income, huh?”

Castiel glowered at the screen. He had expected there to be foul play, of course he had, but this… This was like something taken straight out of a movie.

“How many people have been let go since the cut backs started?” he asked. Sam shrugged.

“I don’t know… After Dean left there’s been at least five more that I know of, then there’s the three that were let go the same day he was…”

“And that’s only over the course of a month…” Castiel mumbled. “The cutbacks have been going on for over a year.”

“So…” Sam pursed his lips, calculating the figures inside his head. “About ten, fifteen people a month?”

“More.” Cas corrected. “When the savings first started the company released over fifty people over the course of two weeks…”

Sam did a quick re-evaluation, leaning back in his chair and squinting at the ceiling.

“So… thirty? Thirty people a month, for a whole year, each person with three months of, if we count it low, minimum wage that they didn’t receive… That makes…” he paused, his eyes widening when the final number slotted into place inside his head. “Almost 5 million dollars.”

Gabriel let out another impressed whistle.

“That’s a lot of money.”

“And it’s only the tip of the iceberg,” Sam breathed, quickly tabbing windows on the screen, tapping away on the keyboard. Castiel caught the familiar glimpse of the login screen to Edenstar as it flashed before his eyes. Then it was gone, drowned in the flurry of code Sam was punching in.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I did some calculations, and there is no way that this company has been able to survive with only the people we have left after the cut backs. The people who were fired were not connected to the union, but it’s no secret that savings has been made. The rules states that the company has to wait nine months before they hire someone new, or they’ll get every single lawyer the union has to offer on their asses. So I went through the employee database files, starting with the ones dated nine months after the first person had been fired.”

A few glaring windows popped up, blinking angrily on the screen, but Sam punched them down with a few well delivered presses on the keyboard.

“You’re hacking into Edenstar,” Castiel stated calmly. Sam flinched, as if he had suddenly realized that he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was funny how hacking a bank account didn’t seem to faze him the slightest, but being called out on breaching the company’s firewall apparently made him feel highly uncomfortable, going by the way he was currently squirming in his seat.

“Uh… yeah, I—“

“I thought hacking through the system would take longer?” Cas nodded towards the screen. “You’re making it look easy.”

“Well, uhm…” Sam stuttered, taken aback by the subtle praise. “As a matter of fact I… kind of did the tricky parts yesterday.”

“That’s my Chocolate Moose,” Gabriel beamed, ignoring the look said moose gave him in return before Sam returned his attention to the laptop.

“Here it is,” he announced, bringing an employee file up on the screen. “This is the first guy that got hired after the nine months were up. Look at his salary.”

Castiel looked at the numbers, a disbelieving frown appearing on his brow. 

“I am going to assume that’s not what he’s actually receiving?” he muttered and Sam snorted.

“Not even by a long shot. The pay has been reduced by about 20%, due to ‘company instatement policy’, and that’s  _ before _ taxes. I have never even heard the term before.”

“That’s because it doesn’t exist,” Castiel muttered. “There’s no such thing.”

“Figured as much…” Sam gestured to the screen. “Well, the first one who can guess where those reduced, tax-free 20% ends up, gets a golden star.” 

Castiel sighed heavily, resting his hands on his hip as he canted his head back to the ceiling. 

“Yup,” Sam confirmed. “And once he gets it, he shares it with that other guy. Uriel. Apparently, they’re doing this together.” 

Cas just barely resisted the urge to groan loudly. Uriel was in on the whole thing too? What else could possibly go wrong?

“Those two sound like a proper assholes to me,” Gabriel snorted. “Sounds like they could use someone to knock them off those high horses of theirs…”

“Indeed,” Castiel agreed through gritted teeth before leaning forward again, looking contemplatively at the computer. “Sam, is there any way you can hack the mainframe for the original meeting protocols?”

“I can try,” Sam mumbled, and if Castiel had found it troublesome to keep up with the flashing text on the screen before, it was nothing compared to what it was now. Sam’s hands were a blur over the keys, the sound of fingers tapping and pressing mixing into a long, outdrawn rattle. Never stopping, never hesitating, the rapid swirl of colors and letters on the screen reflecting themselves in the mirror of the young man’s eyes.

Then suddenly the fingers stopped rapping over the keyboard, and Sam let out a low, disappointed ‘Oh’.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel leaned in even further to look at the screen, trying desperately to make sense of the code there, but he would probably have had better luck understanding ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs.

“It’s a time lock,” Sam said, and it almost peeved Castiel off that the other sounded so impressed.

“What does that mean?” Gabriel asked, coming closer to lean over Sam’s other shoulder.

“It means that after you enter the first code to unlock the mainframe storage, you have a specific time frame where you must type in a second code. If you transcend the time frame the entire system locks down, and then you’re going to need an administrator’s code to unlock it again.”

Castiel frowned.

“I thought you already hacked into the mainframe once. Don’t you have it?”

“I kind of slipped in through the back door when no one was looking,” Sam said apologetically. “I’m basically doing a B&E here, but I don’t have a master key to the rooms inside… Besides, once the system locks down it sends out a message of attempted breach to every computer in the entire network, shutting  _ everything _ down. Zachariah will spot us before we even get halfway.”

“I see…” Castiel straightened up and rubbed his hand over his brow, sighing. “So I suppose we’ll need the two codes then?”

“Yeah, basically.” Sam nodded affirmatively.

“Can’t you hack your way past them? With some sort of software, maybe?”

Sam shook his head.

“No. There’s too much security. They will know what I’m up to the moment I launch the key breaker.”

Castiel held back a groan, but before he had the time to start pacing, Sam added;

“But I know someone who could help.”

“Who?”

Sam shifted in his seat, suddenly looking as if he regretted bringing it up.

“Sam, who?” Gabriel prompted and Sam’s eyes darted to the floor.

“Ash,” he said, and Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up.

“ _ Ash? _ ” he asked. “You’re not talking about ‘I built a cooling fan out of beer cans and a rubber band because it went faster than buying a new one’ Ash, are you?”

“Actually,” Sam squirmed. “Yeah, I am.”

“Awesome.” Gabriel shot Castiel a sideward glance. “Oh, he’s going to looove you,” he cooed and Castiel frowned.

“What about me?” he demanded gruffly.

“He’s a natural born Anarchist,” Sam provided. “He despises authority. He’s going to hate you.”

“That’s of course until he finds out that you’re actually rebelling against the entire system,” Gabriel added. “Then you’re going to have to listen to him yap about every single thing he hates about the world whether you like it or not.”

“You’ve met this person?” Cas asked and Gabriel shrugged.

“Once or twice. We get along well.” The dread darkening Castiel’s features at that must have been evident, because then Gabriel added: “Don’t worry. Once he finds out that you’re a traitor he’ll take to you like a duck to water.”

“I feel calmer already,” Castiel retorted dryly, shifting his gaze to Sam. “Can he be trusted?” he asked simply.

“Yes,” Sam deadpanned without a second of hesitation and Castiel nodded.

“Good. Then call him up.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

“Sorry Sam, this deal is a no go.” 

“There must be a way,” Sam objected, but Ash just snorted at him as he rocked back on Sam’s kitchen chair, folding his arms behind his head.

“Oh, there’s a way, but I ain’t doing it. Too risky.” He shrugged. “Sorry, dude.”

“You’re the one who got me digging into this in the first place,” Sam pointed out testily. “Yesterday the thought of hacking into the mainframe was something you thought would be cool, but today you’re saying it’s too dangerous?” 

“What do you want me to say, Sam?” Ash snapped, “I know this thing you found is a big deal and shit, and I’m all for snooping around, but this…? Fuck, this is  _ too _ big, man, you know what I’m saying?”

“So you’re just going to sit there and do nothing?” Sam demanded, but before he got any further, Castiel interrupted them from the other side of the table.

“What is this risk that you’re talking about?” he wondered, gravelly voice cutting through their squabble like a hot knife through butter.

“It would be easier to explain the things that  _ weren’t _ risky,” Ash huffed out, but when Castiel just tilted his head expectantly at him,  he sighed, straightening up. 

“Alright, so the mainframe is kind of like a house, okay? And each cluster of storage space inside is like a room. Inside each room there are boxes. Stacked, floor to ceiling. Inside one or more of those boxes are the files you want. You with me so far?” 

Castiel nodded and Ash looked pleased with his silent confirmation.

“Okay, now imagine that every room in the house has a door with two locks that opens with two separate strings of code. Like passwords or keys, but more complicated. The first one is the main access key, the other is an individual key that’s been designed for each separate door.” 

Cas nodded once more, showing that he understood.

“So what happens when you punch in the first password is that a countdown starts. If you haven’t entered the second password before the time runs out, the alarm goes off and the entire mainframe, aka the house, goes into isolation. That means that if we fail, we will be trapped inside; all our information, our IP addresses, our hacking software, everything will be frozen, meaning that they will be able to track it back to us. Now I’ve heard about the guys Zachariah hired to do server maintenance—we do  _ not _ want them to realize that we’ve been there. They will hunt us to the end of the world and back until they catch us.”

“How long is the time span to enter the second password?” Castiel asked, ignoring the obvious threat that Ash was trying to point out to him.

“30 seconds.” Ash grimaced. “There’s no way in hell my hacking software can break the code during that time. I need two minutes, or at least one full.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if we already had the codes?” Gabriel asked from his claimed spot on top of the kitchen counter. Ash turned to him with a condescending eye roll.

“Yeah, Einstein, it would, but unless you can snap your fingers or pull them out of your ass, there’s no way we’re getting them.”

“No need to be rude, Blondie, I was just asking,” Gabe muttered.

“Who has the codes?” Cas demanded, interrupting the scuffle before it got out of hand.

“The server technician, the network administrators in New York, and of course Zachariah himself,” Ash listed, counting the names on his fingers. Cas sighed, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

“Is there any way for us to get to them?” he asked. “Any way at all?”

Ash threw his hands out in a gesture that could have been both a yes and a no.

“You could always steal Zach’s computer I guess,” he suggested. “But the moment it’s reported missing it will get locked down from the server. We’ll never be able to extract the keycodes in time.”

Castiel sighed and pushed himself up from the table. He began pacing back and forth, hands once again defiantly perched on his hips. This was no good. He had hoped that Sam’s friend would be able to help them, but the situation had just turned even more impossible. This was never going to work.

“Wait a minute.”

He snapped his head up at the sound of Sam’s voice.

“So the codes are stored on Zachariah’s computer?” he asked and Ash made a grunting, affirmative sound in response, making Sam lick his lips in renewed excitement.

“Then all we really need is access to his hard drive, right?” he prompted.

“Dude,” Ash snorted, “you won’t be able to sneak yourself any desk-time in the Big Guy’s office, if that’s what you think.” 

Sam ignored him, and Castiel could literally see the cogs turning in the young man’s head, enthusiasm glowing in his eyes.

“No, no, listen. You remember that Trojan virus I gave you? The one with the—“

“Vividly, thank you,” Ash interrupted with a glare.

“Anyway,“ Sam continued, ignoring the other’s tone. “Before I gave you that, I put another Trojan in your computer.”

“Another one? God damn it, Winchester, do you have any—”

“Drop it, Ash,” Sam snapped. “The point is; using that Trojan, I had full access to your computer, completely undetected. I could go through and open every single file you had on there, even when you were using them for work. Like invisible remote control.”

“You’re starting to get creepy with me, Sam,” Ash grimaced, but Castiel was listening intently, suspecting where Sam was heading with this.

“Go on,” he urged and Sam shrugged.

“I was just thinking, if we planted that virus on Zachariah’s computer, then sneaking in and finding the codes would be easy. He wouldn’t even know we were there.”

Gabriel chuckled from his corner, beaming like a sun.

“Looks like I landed the  _ smart _ brother,” he mused, chuckling again when Castiel glared at him from across the kitchen. Taking another bite out of his candy bar, Gabriel sent Castiel a lewd wink in return. No one else seemed to have taken any notice of his poorly hidden pun, since at this point neither Sam nor Ash seemed to be listening to the munching man at all.

“Great!” Ash exclaimed, though sounding nothing like the enthusiasm the word stood for. “Then let’s plant the virus. Do we email it to him, or what?”

“Uh, it’s not that easy, actually…” Sam squirmed.

“And why the hell not?”

“It’s too big to be ‘just’ planted. It has to be manually installed to work.”

“Meaning we still need the computer?” Castiel asked and Sam nodded.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Well then, back to square one,” Ash groaned, but behind them Gabriel had suddenly gotten a thoughtful look on his face.

“Hey, hey, not so fast, Bucko.” He turned to Sam. “This Trojan of yours, how hard is it to install?”

“Not hard at all. You double click the icon, answer “yes” and it’s running.”

Gabriel licked his lips, giving the lower a light nibble with his teeth before nodding to himself.

“I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” Castiel asked, eyes narrowing at his sibling. Gabriel shrugged.

“I’ll install the virus. All you have to do is get me inside that SOB’s office, and I’ll get you your codes in no time.”

“You can’t just waltz right in there,” Sam objected. “There’s cameras and all kinds of security. If you get caught you could end up in jail.” 

Gabriel threw his arms out.

“Then give me a reason to be there. Fix me up with an alibi or something.”

“You don’t even  _ work _ at Edenstar, Gabe!” Sam exclaimed. “What reason could you  _ possibly _ have to be inside the CEO’s office?”

Castiel almost missed the look his brother sent his way, lips curling into a secretive grin before the hazel eyed man turned back to Sam.

“Dean,” he said simply, and Castiel’s heart immediately came to a screeching halt inside his chest.

“Dean?” he grated out, the name sticking to the roof of his mouth like a piece of toffee.

“Yup,” Gabriel confirmed. Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Castiel intercepted him. 

“We’re not dragging him into this,” he declared with a stern look at Gabriel’s face. “I’ll go with you.”

“Yeah, and if we get caught you’ll lose your job too,” Gabriel snorted. “No way, bro. Dean’s already been cut loose, they can’t do anything to him, and as Sam said, I don’t even work there.”

“They’ll throw you both in jail,” Castiel pointed out grimly, but Gabriel wasn’t listening, turning towards Sam instead.

“Sam, I can pull this off. All I need is a little help from your brother.”

Castiel glared at Gabriel, trying to mentally convey the gory images of all the possible ways he would be able to murder him. It didn’t seem to work. Gabriel continued to ignore him, focusing completely on Sam, who in turn was looking back at Gabriel; perhaps not looking as hesitant as Castiel would have liked him to be, but still skeptical.

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “Dean is probably not the best person to get involved in this right now. I mean, you saw him; all it takes is for someone to mention that place and he goes berserk.”

Gabriel pointed at him, snapping his fingers in affirmation.

“Bingo! And that’s why we need him!” 

“Gabe…” Sam did not seem convinced, but his pleading fell upon deaf ears. 

Castiel wanted to beat his sibling hard over the head in vengeance when the bastard pulled out the boyfriend-card and waved it around like a fucking free pass when he tilted his head and gave Sam the most heartbreaking set of puppy eyes Castiel had seen in his entire life.

“Baby…” he begged, “Please,  _ trust me _ on this.”

Castiel could almost hear the sound of Sam’s defenses when they came crumbling to the ground, his entire wall of resolve and determination rendered nothing but a smoldering heap of dust and gravel. 

It was those brown eye’s fault, Castiel seethed. Those stupid, golden, ‘shines like the fucking sun and burns like ember’ eyes… There were times when Castiel wished he could wield that same power over someone simply because of his eye color, but he was stuck with these ridiculous, boring, blue ones instead. 

Granted, they were  _ very _ blue, but he still didn’t think they were special. Not like Gabriel’s were, which proved itself clearly in the way Sam’s posture softened, muscles relaxing as he drew breath to utter the words Castiel knew would be their death sentence:

“Alright. What did you have in mind?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you (once again) for reading my story, it means a lot, and I hope you're enjoying it so far <3
> 
> Until Thursday, my darlings!


	9. 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm going away for the weekend, I decided to post the chapter one day early this week.   
> Hope you guys don't mind ;)

Cas was locked in Sam’s bathroom, alternating between pacing impatiently over the plush bathroom mat, and grappling around the porcelain sink with both hands. Staring at his own terrified reflection in the mirror, he could feel the growing sense of nausea assault his insides as it kept rolling around the pit of his stomach. 

Outside the door, he could hear the low murmur coming from Ash, Sam, and Gabriel, as they went over the plan one more time while waiting for Dean to arrive. 

Yes, Dean was on his way to Sam’s apartment. Right now. Perhaps even approaching Sam’s front door at this very moment. 

The pure notion of that knowledge made Castiel want to curl up into a ball on the floor and disappear right on the spot. Any second now, Dean would ring the doorbell—or maybe walk straight through the front door if it was unlocked—and then Castiel would have to share the same air as him for God knew how long. Unless he managed to come up with a damn near miraculous escape plan within the upcoming minute, that was. 

Gabriel had been right of course; they needed Dean for the plan to work, and it was a good plan once you got over how downright  _ mad _ it was. Goddamnit, how was Cas supposed to have known when he agreed to this, that Sam would pick up the phone and order his brother over here  _ tonight? _

He pulled his hands through his hair, for the millionth time since he decided to holed himself up inside the bathroom, resisting the urge to groan loudly to the ceiling. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t go back out there once Dean arrived, he just couldn’t, but it wasn’t like he would be able to leave now either without causing suspicion. Right now he did  _ not  _ want to attract any more attention to himself by making Sam’s inhumane spider-senses tingle. 

Castiel had always thought that lying to Gabriel was hard, but he had quickly come to learn that lying to Sam was downright impossible. Sam might trust him for now, but Castiel was sure that if he as much as breathed the wrong way, he’d be shoved straight back to square one again.

Considering that he’d soon find himself face to face with Dean, yet again, Castiel  suspected that the probability of him breathing  _ all  _ kinds of wrong, was considerably higher than normal.

The minutes he had spent alone with Dean in that old garage had been awkward enough, and so incredibly insane to think about, it was hardly believable. Getting out of there had been a relief without comparison, but now he was about to get thrown, head first, from the fry pan and into the fire, for the second time in less than three hours. 

He had absolutely no idea how Dean was going to react once they revealed the plan to him. Sam had only told him to come over because he had a surprise for him; he hadn’t mentioned that Ash, Gabe or Castiel would all be part of said surprise. Considering the circumstances to which Dean and himself had parted a few hours ago, Castiel was not entirely sure how the surprise of his presence here would be welcomed.

Tearing his eyes away from his reflection, he turned on the faucet, splashing cold water over his face in an attempt to shock some common sense into his system. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to work as well as it did in the movies.

Blue eyes, wide and panicky, still stared back at him from the mirror when he looked up again. He swallowed hard, his throat feeling like sandpaper as it struggled to work down whatever measly amount of saliva his mouth had managed to produce.

Dean would be here any second now.  He would walk into the apartment, and he would spot Castiel, and demand to be told what he was doing there. Castiel would be forced to talk, and then Dean would hear who he was for sure, and then— 

A loud rapping on the bathroom door ripped a startled gasp out of his throat, and he spun around, half expecting it to be Dean’s voice calling out to him next. Needless to say, it wasn’t.

“Hey Cassie, how’s it going in there? You setting up camp or what?”

Castiel leaned back heavily against the sink, his momentary relief that it wasn’t Dean disappearing just as quickly as it had arrived. 

“I’m fine, Gabriel,” he managed. There was a moment of silence from the other side of the door.

“You sure? Because you seem a little… I don’t know…” Gabriel’s voice lowered into a conspiring whisper, or at least it would have been had it not sounded so incredibly  _ loud _ . “…nervous? I mean, had I known Sam would call your lover boy over right this instant, I would’ve— Hey, easy on the threads!”

Cas had opened the door in the middle of Gabriel’s speech and pulled him inside by the collar of his shirt, locking the door swiftly behind them, before he whirled around to face his brother withan agonized wince.

“What the hell am I supposed to do, Gabe?” he hissed. “You think I seem  _ nervous? _ Nervous doesn’t even  _ begin _ to cover the things I am right now!”

“Hey, hey, whoa.” Gabriel’s hands came up towards him, palms out, as if he was trying to appease a boisterous horse. “Calm down, Cassie.”

“I am  _ not _ going to calm down!” Castiel snapped through gritted teeth. “Dean is going to be here any second, and when he sees me, or  _ hears _ me, I’m a  _ dead man _ .”

“You don’t know that,” Gabriel objected. “You spent almost twenty minutes with him earlier today and that went well, right? If I remember correctly, he was going beyond checking you out too, getting all touchy feely with those greasy hands of his.”

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at him, and Castiel’s mind immediately went to the trench coat currently folded over the back of one of Sam’s kitchen chairs. He still remembered how the feel of Dean’s hand on his shoulder almost had his knees buckling from the sheer heat of it, but then he also recalled the rigid square of Dean’s back when the Winchester told him to leave. He ducked his head in avoidance.

“You weren’t there,” he mumbled. “You didn’t see the way he acted after you left.”

“Then I suppose you’re just gonna have to tell me about it.” Gabriel swaggered across the bathroom mat and sat down on the edge of the bath tub, resolutely folding his arms over his chest.

“Gabriel, we don’t have time—“

“I don’t give a crap if we have time or not,” Gabriel cut off. “You want my help, then you better tell me what the heck is going on. And if that means your boyfriend is going to see us leave the bathroom together, then so be it.”

Castiel tried glaring at him, but the look in Gabriel’s eyes quickly informed him that it wouldn’t do much to help.

“Fine,” he grumbled sourly. “I’ll tell you, but you better not make fun of me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Gabriel promised. Cas decided not to comment on that, so instead he started talking, going back to the moment where Gabriel had left him and Dean alone in the auto shop. 

Gabriel listened intently, and when Castiel reached the part when Dean had begun wiping his hands off, there had been an almost sadistic sparkle in his brother’s eyes that no glare from Castiel’s blue ones could chase away. 

Cas did not mention the toy packed inside the bag inside his trunk—there was no reason for Gabriel to hear about that—but he had to explain the reason for Tiger’s nickname for him when he got to the almost-kiss they had shared inside the car. When he finished, Gabriel looked as if he was going to burst out giggling at any second, causing Castiel’s ears to heat up from embarrassment.

“Bro…” Gabriel bit down on his lower lip, stifling a chuckle. “The dude’s so far gone on this Blue guy he can’t even  _ walk _ straight.”

“Exactly.” Cas slumped down onto the toilet seat, letting his head roll back to thud quietly against the wall. “He’s into Blue. Not me.”

“But you’re the same  _ person _ ,” Gabriel groaned.

“Yes, and when he finds  _ that _ out, he’s going to be pissed. I showed up at his garage, Gabe! And now I’m suddenly at his brother’s place too? He’s going to think that I’ve been stalking him.”

“ _ I’m _ the one who dragged your ass to Bobby’s place,” Gabriel objected. “And then Sam dragged it here. You knew nothing about any of this; it’s literally the perfect alibi.”

“Oh, really?” Cas glowered accusingly. “And this plan of yours to use him in order to take down Zachariah? That’s not going to look even the slightest bit suspicious to him?”

“Cas, the guy’s fallen for you so hard he left a fucking crater,” Gabriel insisted. “Don’t you see it? He’s so far gone he wouldn’t be able to find his way back with a map and compass!” He uncrossed his arms and gestured towards the door. “I swear, if you don’t man up and tell the poor sap who you are, then so help me, I will.”

“You will do no such thing,” Castiel snapped.

“Then what do you suggest?” Gabe glowered. “You’re going to cower in here all night? Hide in the bathtub, what?”

“I don’t know!”

“Then why not just come clean? Stop this before it gets even worse and just Tell. Him. Who. You. Are.”

“Gabe…”

“Oh, don’t you  _ dare  _ ‘Gabe’ me.” 

Gabriel stood up and Castiel resisted the urge to flinch as his brother took a step forward, brown eyes firm and unyielding.

“Now you listen close,” Gabriel ordered. “You’re going to get a grip, straighten up, walk out there, and then you’re going to deliver this plan like you’re mother fucking Johnny Ocean. You’re going to sweep that guy off his feet with a display of raw, dominant authority. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Castiel’s eyes widened.

“You can’t expect  _ me _ to be the one who tells him about this?” he choked, but Gabriel ignored his protests and instead focused on straightening out the crinkles in his brother’s suit jacket.

“Of course I do.”

“It’s  _ your _ plan,  _ you _ deliver it,” Castiel objected. “Gabe, he’s going to—”

“Don’t worry, if he didn’t recognize you at Bobby’s then there’s a pretty slim chance he will now.”

“No. Gabriel, no. I can’t.“

“Either you walk them through the plan, or I spill Dean the whole story the very moment he walks through that door,” Gabriel warned. Castiel’s entire body went deadly cold.

“You don’t mean that,” he tried, but he knew the look on his brother’s face well enough to realize that, oh yes, he did. Gabriel shook his head mournfully, moving on to adjust Castiel’s tie; not straightening or pulling it tighter, but loosening it at the same time as he undid the top button of his shirt.

“There, a little hint of skin,” he mused, obviously pleased with himself before growing serious again. “It’s embarrassing that I have to resort to threats just to get you laid, bro.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Castiel muttered, but his insult went by unnoticed.

“Don’t sweat it,” Gabriel assured him. “The worst thing that can happen is that yes, he recognizes you, but even if he does, there’s no need for you to tell him that you’ve recognized him first. Let  _ him  _ drop the bomb if it scares you so much.”

“I can’t lie to him,” Cas sighed. Gabriel shrugged, making a few experimental adjustments to the white collar in his hands.

“Then don’t,” he suggested indifferently, but Castiel’s hands shot up and clasped around his wrists, halting the hands in their ministrations.

“Gabriel,” he begged. “Please…”

Gabriel looked at him. For a moment Castiel expected him to swat his hands away and tell him to stop being such a child, but instead he just sighed tiredly and tilted his head slightly to the side.

“You really are pathetic little pup, Cassie, you know that?”

“Trust me, I am aware,“ Castiel muttered, grimacing. “And stop calling me Cassie; it’s a girl’s name.”

“Judging by your behavior right now, I’d say it’s suitable,” Gabriel quipped back. Then he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, sighing once more. “Alright, you win. I’ll do the talking; you just sit back and enjoy the view.”

“Thank you.” Castiel’s grip tightened around Gabriel’s hands in an additional display of gratitude before letting go, the relief alone causing him to feel lightheaded and dizzy.

“Don’t thank me.” The look Gabriel gave him was almost agonized. “Just try to keep your hands out of your pants while he’s here, alright?”

Castiel glared at him, but Gabriel just smirked and gave his shoulder a light pat the same moment the doorbell rang. 

“And there’s the signal,” he beamed as he whirled his younger sibling around, shoving him towards the door. “It’s showtime, bro.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

They rounded the corner to the living room just as Sam closed the front door behind his older brother. Castiel’s initial reaction at the sight of Dean, standing right there in the hallway, was to turn around and dive head first back into the bathroom. Then he felt Gabriel’s arm clench threateningly where it was still wrapped around his elbow and immediately abandoned the thought. 

He had no idea if Gabriel would drag him out from his hiding  _ before _ or  _ after _ he revealed Cas’s true identity to Dean, but there was no doubt in his mind that the reveal indeed would be made if he didn’t get his act together within the following five seconds. He straightened up, feeling the vice around his arm loosen and give an encouraging squeeze before pushing him further into the room and letting go. 

The motion of Castiel’s brief stumble caught Dean’s attention, and the other man’s brow drew together in a short moment of confusion before his eyes widened in recognition. Cas would have given anything not to be there when Dean turned back towards Sam, his jaw clenched tight and with a voice that was just short of a growl.

“What are they doing here?” he demanded grimly, causing Sam to shrug in return.

“I called them.”

Dean’s shoulders seemed to relax slightly at that, but when he turned back to Cas, his eyes were as hard as ever. Castiel had to avert his own gaze to the backrest of the couch, which by some unknown force had ended up clutched in his hands, blood pounding so hard in his head he was sure he was going to faint. 

He knew this had been a bad idea. His entire body was screaming at him to just find an excuse and get the hell out of there before it got even worse. Then Gabriel swaggered out from behind his back and threw himself in a nearby lounging chair, beaming his best shit-eating grin towards the man by the door.

“Relax, Deano,” he grinned. “We’re all friends here.”

“Bite me, Gabriel,” Dean snarled back before returning his attention to his own brother. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded, but instead of answering him, Sam just turned to Castiel with an awkward shrug.

“You wanna start?” he asked. It took all Castiel had not to squirm straight out of his own skin when the cold stare of Dean’s eyes was directed towards him once more.

“I think…” he started, clearing his throat from the treacherous squeak that threatened to sneak it’s way into his voice. Focusing his attention on Sam, he made a valiant attempt to shove Dean’s presence out of his field of vision. 

“I think it would be better if you began by telling him how you first found out,” he suggested quietly. Dean’s glare let up slightly, confused gaze flickering between the two.

“Found out what?” he asked, but once again, Sam ignored him.

“Yeah, well… Ash’s the one who told me about it to begin with, so I guess it’d be better if he went first?”

“Ash?” Dean squinted, now completely lost in translation.

“Here.” Ash’s hand shot up behind the laptop, the universal sign for rock’n’roll marking out his position behind the mountain of papers stacked on the kitchen table.

“ _ Another _ one?” Dean winced. “How many people did you stash in here?”

“It’s just us,” Sam assured him. “We can’t risk anyone else finding out.”

“Find out  _ what? _ ” Dean threw his hands out to the side. “Could someone  _ please _ tell what the hell is going on here?”

“Ash?” Sam called out, and Ash’s head poked out from the chaos of papers in response.

“Yeah?”

“Tell them what Jo said when you talked to her that time in the storage closet.”

Ash’s face clouded over a little.

“Hey, can’t a man have some privacy?” he grumbled. “I mean, that conversation was a bit—”

“About the  _ files _ , Ash,” Sam sighed and Ash lightened up.

“Oh. Why didn’t you just say so?”

“ _ What files? _ ” Dean wailed to the ceiling. From his chair, Gabriel let out a barking laugh and unceremoniously threw his feet up on the coffee table.

“Have a seat, Bucko,” he mused, eyes sparkling. “This is probably gonna take a while…”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

“…and that is basically the plan.” Gabriel ended with an elegant twirl of his wrist; still lying sprawled out leisurely on the recliner seat, one leg swung over the edge of the arm rest like some sort of spoiled rotten royalty. Dean was staring at him, brow raised in disbelief and jaw dropped somewhere by his knees. 

Castiel was sitting in the couch opposite to him, doing his very best to keep his eyes where they belonged, while Sam was shifting on his feet behind Dean, looking as expectant as a child who had just revealed the most fantastic surprise ever and was now anxiously awaiting a response.

“So, what do you think?” Sam asked, eyes bright and ecstatic.

Dean turned slowly in his seat, giving his baby brother the most incredulous look Castiel had ever seen in his life.

“ _ That’s _ your plan?” he winced, and Sam’s brow knotted in a frown.

“Well… yeah, I… suppose.” 

“And you want me to do it with  _ him? _ ” Dean pointed his thumb towards Gabe, who threw out his hands in feigned resignation, as if asking what the problem was about him. 

“And what about you, fancypants?” Dean continued, turning to look straight at Castiel. “What are you supposed to do? Write encouraging post-its and bring us coffee?”

Castiel felt a sharp pang of resignation go off inside his chest at the words.  He must have looked more hurt by the sudden assault than he would have liked, because before he even had the chance to come up with an answer, Gabriel had already intercepted him.

“Cas is giving us valuable intel about Zachariah’s schedule and the layout of his office,” he provided firmly. "He has access to areas we must know of beforehand, and we  _ need him  _ to pull this off.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right, because he’s a  _ member of the board _ .” Dean said sweetly, pronouncing the title as if it left a sour taste in his mouth. Gabriel’s face immediately went dark.

“I thought we already cleared the fact that Castiel had nothing to do with you losing your job,” he pointed out sharply.

“According to  _ him _ ,” Dean retorted, still deceptively calm.

“You’re calling my brother a liar?” Gabriel asked and Dean smirked, eyes narrowing as if in challenge.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he quipped, causing Gabriel’s eyes to cloud over.

Castiel’s lungs drew tight in his chest. It was like watching your father fight with your boyfriend, only in this case Gabriel technically wasn’t his father and Dean was… well, he wasn’t really sure what Dean was right now. He glanced at the pair as they glared at each other across the living room table, trying to keep his fingers from fidgeting with the fabric of his tie. Gabriel’s face could have been carved out of stone when he spoke next.

“Now you listen to me, you ignorant prick,” he growled. “Cas is here because he’s trying to help you. We’re  _ all _ trying to help you.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want any help from you,” Dean snapped. “Did any of you even stop to think about that? That just  _ maybe _ I don’t want my lame ass job back!”

Castiel sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and Gabriel opened his mouth to say something else—most likely something that would have needed a PG-rating—but this time it was Sam who spoke first.

“Stop bullshitting, Dean,” he said sharply. “If you’re not upset about your job, then why the hell do you spend your days in Bobby’s garage smashing up cars like you were being paid to do so?”

“That’s none of your business,” Dean bit back. Castiel’s fingers gripped the armrest of the sofa a little bit harder, but the snappy comeback didn’t do much to throw Sam off track.

“Oh, I think it is,” he insisted. “You’re hiding something. What is it?”

“You know what, I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.” Dean shot up from his seat, ignoring Sam’s aggravated sigh.

“Dean—“ 

“Dean, sit down,” Gabriel said, but Dean pretended that he didn’t hear him and instead gave his own sibling a sharp look.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he hissed from under his breath, a promising threat weaving into the words before he headed towards the door.

“Dean,” Gabriel growled, but Dean still ignored him. From his place on the couch Castiel could literally hear the zing that went through the air when his older brother’s patience snapped.

“Dean, I said s _ it down! _ ”

Gabriel’s voice rang out through the apartment with the sound of an ice shard hitting the floor. Ash’s rappings on the keyboard abruptly stopped and Sam flinched as if he had been shot. Castiel remained silently pressed back into the seat of his chair, studying the scene that he knew would soon unfold with cautious eyes.

He  _ knew _ that voice. 

No matter size, gender, job, or social status; when Gabriel used  _ that _ voice on you, you did as you were told. So to him it wasn’t all that surprising that the moment the words left Gabriel’s mouth, Dean stopped dead in his tracks, shoulders tense like a child prepared for a good scolding. 

Slowly, he turned to glare at Gabriel, but when Gabriel’s only response was to glare right back, Dean reluctantly returned to his seat, glowering at the shorter man with a defiance that spoke louder than any obscenities in the world. 

Again, Gabriel met the look calmly, still casually flung out in his chair, but with eyes that did not in any way mirror his relaxed body language. Castiel realized that he was literally biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling at the sight.

It was like watching a movie with someone who hadn’t seen it before; knowing what was about to happen, yet trying not to let it show. Gabriel had already won, of course. He won the moment Dean stopped moving towards the door, but Castiel was probably the only person in the room who knew that. 

Right now, while everyone else was holding their breath in anticipation, Castiel was simply waiting for the inevitable punchline that would make Dean surrender completely. It was almost amusing, and the fact that he found the situation to be even mildly entertaining to begin with only served as proof of how mentally exhausted he currently was. 

Dean and Gabriel was still glaring daggers at each other, engaged in a silent wrestling match between wills that seemed to suck the air out of the room. When Gabriel finally spoke, Castiel almost expected blue bolts of lightning to clash over their heads.

“Frankly,” he said, and his voice was as hard and foreboding as the rumble of oncoming thunder in the distance. “I don’t care why you’re smashing up cars in your spare time, or why you’re snapping at your brother as if he’s somehow the one responsible. I don’t care if you want your job back or not. What I  _ do _ care about, however, is the fact that  _ you _ don’t seem to care about what’s really going on here. What happened to you will happen to someone else; someone who doesn’t have cars to smash or brothers to worry over them, and you’re just going to let that pass?” He snorted, eyeing Dean up and down with a look that balanced on the edge to disgust. “Honestly, from what Sam told me about you, I expected more.”

“Listen,” Dean growled out, leaning forward in his seat. “I  _ care _ , okay? But the plan you knuckleheads got worked out here? It’s suicidal! You’re talking about  _ company breach _ . At  _ Edenstar _ . We’d be better off just smashing Zachariah's head in compared to what will happen when they catch us.”

“ _ If _ they catch us,” Sam pointed out soberly. “Which they won’t, if you just work with us on this.”

Dean stared at Sam as if he had just stabbed him in the back, and Castiel fought a sudden urge to fidget with a loose thread on the cuff of his shirt. Witnessing arguments between family members had never gone down well with him, and at the moment he was sitting smack down in the middle of a sibling fight; not able, nor expected to do anything but listen to the two men argue. 

It made his skin crawl, and his fingers moved restlessly over his knees, absentmindedly plucking at whatever he got his hands on. The white thread sticking up from the edge of his sleeve was relentlessly screaming for attention, and he would have ripped it out and probably ended up ruining his entire shirt if Dean had not suddenly sighed, the tired sound of breath leaving lungs revealing that he was running low on valid arguments. 

“You guys are mental,” he muttered, finally. “This  _ plan _ is fucking mental.” 

“Exactly,” Gabriel smirked. “And that’s why it’s going to work—nobody is expecting it.”

Dean chewed on his bottom lip, eyes darting between the four of them. Castiel could feel his entire insides shake when their eyes made contact, even if their shared gaze didn’t last longer than a split second. Dean sighed again, dragging the palms of his hands over his face, rubbing at the short stubble on his chin, and then he straightened up.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” He raised a finger when Gabriel opened his mouth to say something, silencing him before he shifted, pointing the finger to Sam. 

“I’m in,” he repeated. “As long as  _ he  _ stays out.”

“What?” Sam gaped from behind him, but Dean didn’t as much as grant him a look, still with his eyes firmly set on Gabriel.

“If we go in and they catch us,” he continued, “then I don’t want them to be able to trace any of this shit back to him, is that understood?” 

This time Sam actually let out a full on squawk.

“You can’t just decide to keep me out of this!” he protested loudly.

“Oh, I can,” Dean promised. Sam in return seemed to grow at least five inches where he stood, puffing up like he was expecting there to be a fight.

“I’m a grownup, Dean,” he snarled. “I can make these calls for myself.”

“Ash can handle the computer without you,“ Dean quipped. “You’re  _ replaceable, _ Sam; I’m not. You need me for this, you said so yourself.”

“Dean, I’m not going to just let you—“

“Yes, you are!” Dean cut him off with a hard glare over his shoulder.

“No, I’m  _ not! _ ” Sam snapped back. “Dammit, Dean, what’s the matter with you?!”

Dean’s jaw clenched, lips forming a thin, stubborn line, but he didn’t answer. In the back of Castiel’s head, from somewhere seemingly ages ago, he heard Tiger’s voice, hoarse and weak as if it had been screaming for hours:

_ They threatened my brother, okay… _

And that’s when he made a decision.

“Alright,” he said, voice firm, blue eyes rising from the floor towards the arguing duo. “Sam, you’re out.”

“Now, hold on just a minute!”

“We need him more than we need you,” Castiel deadpanned. “It’s not an injustice; it’s the truth.” He turned to Dean, steeling himself in order to look him in the eye. “And we only get one chance.”

Dean met his gaze, still the most greenest green, even in the dusk of the apartment, and it was amazing how Castiel could suppress the shivers those eyes caused to run through his body. He was aware that Sam was now arguing loudly in the background, trying to gain some form of agreement from Gabriel, but Cas didn’t listen. Dean’s eyes stayed locked on his, and for a few heart-stopping seconds it was as if the rest of the world shrunk away, the colors and sounds blurring out of focus.

Dean was crumbling, even if his poker face was as stern as ever. Cas could tell. He could hear it in the rhythm of his breathing, in the way he dragged the air in through his nose and then let it out the same way. The air seemed to thicken as their eyes met, the silence between them carrying an entire conversation that only the two of them could hear.  A pleading look earning a warning clench of a jaw, a barely noticeable nod, the deepening of a frown responded by a subtle tilt of the head. 

_ Dean, please… _

_ If anything happens to him, I swear to God—  _

_ He will be safe. I promise. _

_ Why do you care so much about this? _

_ Does it matter? _

It all happened so fast, so natural, as if they had always communicated in that way. Whatever it was that they were doing, it must have caught Dean off guard, because suddenly he broke eye contact with a shaky breath and settled back in his chair, gaze firmly locked on the coffee table in front of him.

“Alright,” he said, clearing his throat before looking back at Gabriel. “I get how we’re going to get inside, and I get how we’re supposed to get to the codes. What I don’t get is how we’re supposed to get back out again in once piece without getting our bones jumped by the security guards. I’m sure you’re a lovely roommate, Gabe, but prison ain’t exactly my kind of hangout.”

Gabriel shrugged and Dean’s eyebrows rose in disbelief.

“That’s it?” he asked. Gabriel shrugged again, causing Dean’s jaw to drop. 

“Wait,” he said, holding his hand out. “So you mean that we’re supposed to just burst in there, guns blazing, and then what? We’re just gonna Jedi our way out, is that your plan?”

Castiel snorted out an involuntary laugh, because the mental image of his brother pulling an Obi-Wan Kenobi on a pair of bouncer-looking security guards was more than a little bit hilarious. The fact that Gabriel loathed the movies with a close to fiery passion only added fuel to the fire.

Something flickered in the depths of Dean’s eyes at the sound of him, and for a horrifying, breath stealing moment Castiel was convinced that he had been recognized; the panic washing over him like a bucket of ice-cold water. He kept staring down at his shoes, pretending that he couldn’t feel Dean’s eyes on him, or how the sweat was starting to break out on the back of his neck again. He held his breath, waiting, but then Dean suddenly seemed to lose interest and turned back towards Gabriel; the hint of a smile ghosting the corner of his mouth.

“A plan that’s not planned, huh?” he concluded and Gabriel nodded.

“Exactly.” 

Castiel dared a quick flicker at Dean’s face, but his attempt of stealth did not go by unnoticed. Before he knew it he was caught in a sea of green once more, unable to break away, his breath locking tight inside his chest as if it belonged to a drowning man. 

He wished that Dean would just quit looking at him, that he would turn away, but at the same time he prayed that he would never, ever stop. He wanted to stay in that spotlight forever, regardless of how naked and exposed it made him feel. Every second, every exhilarating moment he spent around this man, caused the memory of Tiger to fade into something more like a dream; the real Dean stepping in and filling out all the blanks that was missing, becoming solid and real. 

A proper person that could be touched, kissed, loved, and Castiel would not have it any other way. He could reach his hand out, right now, and he’d be able to feel the strong plane of muscles move underneath the other’s worn out t-shirt as Dean breathed, and there would be nothing to stop him. Except Dean himself, of course. Dean… who was still looking at him as if Castiel’s eyes were riddles he was trying his best to solve.

Castiel’s mind immediately snapped back to reality, the intensity of Dean’s eyes on his face suddenly threatening to burn a hole through his skull. He cleared his throat with a cough that just barely managed to hide the startled sound of a gasp. 

Quickly excusing himself, he was already halfway out of the couch before he had even finished his sentence, fleeing around the corner to the kitchen area and out of sight, his legs feeling like dissolving Jell-O beneath his weight.  

He leaned back heavily against the counter by the sink, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm his viciously beating heart. Green eyes dazzled before his inner vision and a desperate, pained wince fell from his lips as he banged the back of his head once against the cupboard behind him. 

Dean.  _ Dean, Dean, Dean _ ; the name was like a mantra inside his head, going on and on and on until his whole body was thrumming with the sound of it, making his blood boil in his veins as Tiger’s true name worked itself like a drug through his entire system.  _ Dean, Dean, Dean _ … And he was right  _ there _ , right  _ now _ ; every inch of him more than Castiel could ever have dreamed to even hope for, and oh, God, how did he ever manage to end up here? 

The answer to his unspoken question appeared a split second later when Gabriel himself sauntered into the kitchen, wide grin curling into place the moment he spotted his brother’s flustered state.

“You doing okay?” he beamed, obviously already knowing the answer. Castiel barely resisted the urge to do something as obscene as flipping him off for his trouble. Instead he settled back against the counter again with a sigh before turning around to try and locate a glass in one of the cupboards. He heard Gabriel snicker as the other walked up to lean against the counter next to him.

“So,” his brother said, voice conveying nothing but pure gloating. “You still don’t think you have a shot with him?”

“What I  _ think _ is irrelevant,” Castiel grated back, closing the cupboard he was currently rummaging through before moving on to the next. His grim answer didn’t seem to put his brother off the slightest.

“Fine, have it your way.” Gabriel smirked. “All I know is that Captain Jack-off out there is staring at you like a starving man eyeing an all-you-can-eat buffét.”

“So he’s a cannibal, lovely…” Castiel muttered and then threw the cupboard door closed with a frustrated groan. “ _ How come _ there are no  _ glasses _ in this kitchen?!” he demanded loudly.

“Top shelf, cupboard to the right,” Gabriel assisted and Castiel moved on to the appointed cabinet.

Gabriel watched as Castiel reached up, his younger brother almost forced to stand on his toes in order to acquire the needed height to get a hand over the edge of the shelf with the mugs and glasses.

“You know…” he said quietly, making a great effort not to make it sound like an accusation. “I don’t wanna sound like a douche, but your lover boy out there seems to have quite the attitude problem.”

“He’s worried,” Castiel muttered with a huff as he managed to hook his finger around the ear of a coffee mug and pull it out. 

“About what? That we’ll get caught?” Gabriel frowned.

“About Sam.” Castiel turned the tap on in the sink, letting the water swirl down the drain as he patiently waited for it to run cold.

“Sam’s an adult,” Gabriel snorted. “Shouldn’t he be allowed to make decisions like that for himself?”

Cas dipped the mug under the flowing stream of water, filling it up to the brim before turning the sink off and turning back towards his brother.

“Their relationship is none of our business,” he mumbled, knowing perfectly well what Gabriel thought about people who tried to control other people’s lives. “How they sort this out is up to them, but I am sure that if Dean says that Sam should stay out of it, then he probably has a good reason.”

He brought the mug up and drank down a few deep gulps of the icy water, feeling the cool of it run down his spine and pool like a grounding weight in his stomach. When he looked back at his brother, Gabriel was staring at him as if Castiel had just solved the riddle behind String Theory.

“You know.” he stated lowly. “Dean told you something, didn’t he? Back in the showers, he—“

Castiel hushed his brother with a glare and a pointed look at the door to the living room. Gabriel rolled his eyes, but lowered his volume, stepping closer.

“Cas, what’s going on?” he asked and this time there was genuine concern in his voice. “Why isn’t Sam allowed to go?”

“Gabriel…”

“He’s my  _ boyfriend _ , Cas.”

There was more weight behind that word than what should normally have been considered justified, but Gabriel didn’t need to explain what he meant to Castiel; Castiel knew.  Sam was  _ important _ , and Gabriel was not the kind of person who just stood by and allowed the people he found important to get hurt; Cas of all people would know. 

He sighed and shot a final, guarded look in the direction of the living room before he spoke, voice lowered into a whisper that forced Gabriel even closer. Keep their eyes locked, he made sure that Gabriel didn’t look away, because it was important that Gabe  _ understood _ .

“When Dean lost his job,” Cas said slowly, “Zachariah and his thugs told him to go quietly, or they would get rid of Sam too.” 

Gabriel sucked in an angry breath through his teeth, but Castiel wasn’t finished. 

“If we do this and we fail, then Sam is going to become a target. They are going to come after him, and I know Zachariah, Gabe; he won’t settle with simply firing Sam, he’s going to make sure he  _ ruins _ him.  _ Completely _ , do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Gabriel’s face was stern, but he nodded, once, and Cas firmly placed the mug back down on the counter before fixing his brother with a penetrating stare.

“Now, you and I, we don’t know  _ anything  _ about this, do you hear me?” he whispered. “Going by the looks of it, Dean has not told Sam about the threat, and unless you can come up with a damn good explanation to how  _ you  _ found out about it, then none of us are going to tell him either. “ Gabriel opened his mouth, most likely to object, but Castiel cut him off with a silencing finger. “Gabe. No.”

“I don’t like it, Cas,” Gabriel growled.

“I know,” Cas agreed. “And once this is all over you can do whatever you want, but until then…  Gabriel, please.“

Gabriel’s teeth gnawed on his bottom lip, seemingly struggling with his decision, but just as he was about to give voice to it, Dean came walking around the corner to the kitchen, slamming his hand against the doorframe hard enough to make Cas almost jump out of his skin.

“What are you two ladies gossiping about?” he grinned, stalking up to settle himself in the little corner formed between the two kitchen counters.

“Oh, nothing special,” Gabe drawled, still with his eyes firmly set on Castiel’s. “Just speculating on whether you’re going commando under those tight assed jeans or if you’re wearing a thong.”

Castiel almost choked on his own breath, but Dean didn’t seem to think the question was in any way inappropriate.

“Commando,” he responded without missing a beat, confident sarcasm leaking through his words like honey. “I save the lace for special occasions.” 

“Of course,” Gabriel smirked, turning around and crossing his arms over his chest. “Figured you’d be into stuff like that.”

“Don’t you start with the name calling; I’ve seen the handcuffs and chocolate sauce laying strewn around here, you kinky bastard.”

“Hey, that’s your brother you’re talking about,” Gabriel warned, but Dean just shrugged.

“Doesn’t make it any less kinky.”

“I suppose you would know,” Gabriel muttered under his breath while giving Castiel a wink over his shoulder, causing Cas to fixate his gaze on the floor in between his own feet with alarming intensity.  

“Speaking of kinks,” Gabriel continued, louder. “I better get back out there before Sam and Ash get lost in another one of their cyber-orgies. I’m all for sharing, but bringing a laptop into the bedroom can get all kinds of awkward, if you know what I mean.” 

He strode past Dean like a man on a mission, but before he exited the kitchen he sent another tell-tale leer in Castiel’s direction, mouthing an exaggerated “go get him” over Dean’s shoulder before disappearing out of sight.

And so, for the second time in less than twenty four hours, Castiel found himself alone with Dean in a space far too small for his liking, and with the far too suggestive images of said Dean, in different states of undressed, still floating around inside his head. 

When Dean directed his attention towards him, Castiel quickly turned back to the counter, picking up his mug once more. He hurriedly turned on the tap; cold water rushing out so fast it splattered up the sides of the sink, threatening to drench the front of his shirt and pants with the force of it. From the corner of his eye he could see Dean lean back against the countertop, hands casually gripping around the edges of the wooden surface with his hips jutting out in a way that had Castiel’s mouth run dry. He promptly dunked his cup under the spray of water, filling it to the brim. 

“So…” he heard the other say, the familiarity of Tiger’s voice ringing like a glorious bell in his ears. “A member of the board going dark side, huh? That’s new.”

Castiel brought the mug to his lips, gulping the liquid down, not answering. He had no words, no plan, no prepared answers for a conversation like this. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him like the slow drag of fingers running down his neck, and he couldn’t bring himself to look up, fixing his gaze past his own nose at the bottom of his mug. 

“Makes a guy wonder,” Dean continued, voice suddenly laced with polite suspicion as he watched Castiel empty his drink and then put the mug down to refill it yet again. “I mean, a high positioned suit like you… what could you possibly have to gain by doing this?”

“Nothing,” Castiel answered dryly.

“Nothing?” Dean asked, eyebrows tenting in not even attempted hidden disbelief.

“Yes, nothing,” Castiel repeated, bringing the cup up once more.

Dean looked at him, eyes suddenly hard.

“You’ll have to excuse the fact that I don’t believe you,” he said sternly. Castiel nodded, or shook his head, he wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he breathed, silently cursing Sam for not owning bigger coffee mugs as he brought it down to refill it for the third time.

“You’re  _ sorry _ ?” Dean asked incredulously. “That’s it? You’re not going to try to convince me that you’re doing this out of the goodness of your own heart? For the sake of humanity?”

“Would it do any good?” Castiel mumbled, shooting him a guarded glance. Dean shrugged, the corners of his mouth dipping low in a ‘meh’ sort of way.

“Not really,” he admitted.

“Then for what purpose should I waste your time trying?”

“Really?” Dean snorted. “So you’re willing to risk your job, your career, the company car—” 

“I drive my own car, which you already know perfectly well,” Castiel glared, a hint of steel slipping into his voice and Dean’s jaw shut with a mute snap. 

That same  _ something  _ from earlier flashed behind the green surface of his eyes, and Castiel could feel his heart bang a vicious response against his ribcage, the steady beat of  _ Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean _ threatening to swallow up his soul like a tidal wave. 

This quarrel reminded him too much about the fights they used to have in the shower room—the ones that always managed to escalate into their own strange form of foreplay—and right now Castiel’s pulse was already racing, the muscles in his body reacting to the rhythm on pure reflex. He was perfectly aware that the two of them, together like this, were like a recipe for rough, tearing clothes off, slam against the wall, angry sex; an idea that his libido didn’t seem to have any problem with at the moment. Especially not now when Dean’s physical presence acted like a lure, pulling him in closer by the second. 

Dean’s lips looked so deliciously soft, and every fiber of Castiel’s body was aching, screaming for the touch of them. For Dean’s breath down his lungs, his moans against his skin, his hands on his body…  He knew that he shouldn’t be staring; knew what a threat it caused to his self control, but he forced himself to keep his eyes locked on Dean’s, knowing that if he allowed his gaze to waver now it would only look suspicious considering the conversation they were having. Another contributing factor of course, was that if he allowed it to settle on any other part of Dean Winchester’s body, he wasn’t all that sure that he would be able to control himself.

Years passed. Decades, minutes, eons and seconds; all of it jumbled up inside the intensity of the other’s gaze. Then Dean suddenly straightened up, some of his hostility falling away. There it was; the same glimmer of golden green that Cas had seen earlier in that dingy old garage, like an emerald lit up from within by a mirthfully, flickering candle.

“Okay,” Dean agreed, his entire body suddenly going lax against the counter. “If you say so.”

Castiel did not dare look away, painfully aware of the still very provocative stance the other was in, the subtle jut of hipbones looking sharp enough to cut through the denim covering them. His grip around the mug in his hand abruptly tightened to the point where the fact that the porcelain remained intact was a freaking miracle. The thought in turn made him realize that the water was still running wildly in the sink, and he quickly shut it off, putting the cup down on the counter.

“Does that mean that you believe me?” he asked quietly and in turn, Dean sent a look his way that made his entire insides squirm. 

“Ain’t like I have much of a choice, is there?”

This made Castiel’s brow furrow, catching on to the little exasperated tone in the other’s voice.

“There’s always a choice, Dean.” 

Dean threw a sideward glance into the living room, where Sam and Ash were going over some things on the laptop while Gabriel was trying his best to get comfy in the leftover space of the sofa. He sighed.

“You think so?” he asked. 

God, Castiel could have pushed him up against the counter and had him right there, siblings present or not. He managed to control himself, somehow, and instead he just nodded once, quiet and solemn.

“I do.”

Dean seemed to contemplate this for a few seconds, and then he chuckled, leaning back fully with his head resting against one of the cupboards. Castiel’s eyes slowly slid down the craned neck to rest at the sharp V-shape of his jugular, wanting nothing more in that moment than to kiss, bite and lick all over the soft flesh there until Dean was nothing more than a shivering mess beneath him; all his worries chased away by the wicked play of Castiel’s tongue and lips. 

“You’re a peculiar man, Cas,” Dean said suddenly, and Cas’ gaze abruptly dropped to the side as if it had been shot down. 

“Is that a good thing?” he asked, maybe even betraying a bit of the hope he felt twisting to life inside him as he sent a hesitant glance Dean’s way. Dean didn’t answer; instead he simply smiled at him. Castiel found that he had a very hard time suppressing the full on body shudder that action caused to coil just beneath the surface of his skin.

“By the way,” Dean said, voice dropping a note or two, and that right there just wasn’t fair. “I’m sorry about earlier, at the auto shop. It was rude of me, kicking you out like that.”

“It’s alright,” Castiel assured him. “I understand.” Dean, on the other hand, wasn’t ready to let the subject drop that easily.

“No, I mean it,” he insisted. “I was being an asshole, that shit wasn’t cool. I didn’t mean to be all snappy, it’s just that you—” He hesitated, licking his lips and swallowing as he thought about how to phrase it. “You reminded me of someone,” he ended.

Castiel’s lungs knotted into a giant ball in his chest at the suggestive meaning behind those words, but somehow he still managed to squeeze out a response.

“I see.” He gulped down another breath, and before he could stop it the question tumbled out of his mouth. “An old... love interest?” 

The word ‘boyfriend’ had been playing on the tip of his tongue, but he had just barely managed to hold it back. It was a rude question to begin with and he couldn’t believe he had just asked him that! Dean had only just met  _ him _ a few hours ago, for Christ’s sake, of course he wouldn’t just spill his thoughts like that in front of a total stranger.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, feeling horrible. “That is none of my business. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s alright,” Dean assured him, even if his smile suddenly lowered a few watts in strength. “I’m the one who brought it up.” He looked down, studying his boots for a few seconds. “It was a guy I dated for a while. For about half a year or so.”

“Dated?” Castiel didn’t want to sound so desperate, so  _ needy _ , but he couldn’t help himself. Dean thought they had been  _ dating? _ That their weekly get-togethers in the showers had been the equivalent of romantic dinners and candle light?

“Yeah, or… sort of, it didn’t start out like that, but… Over time the guy just grew on me, I guess.” Dean smiled, but then his face went serious again. “I don’t think he was of the same opinion though...”

“Oh…” Castiel struggled to find the words, wanting nothing more than to scream out how wrong Dean was, that he  _ did  _ have that same opinion, and that Dean had no idea what he was talking about. What came out of his mouth instead was a soft:

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Dean chuckled, but it was a depressed, wounded little sound.

“Cas, man, stop apologizing for everything.”

“Sor—“ he bit his lip, halting himself at last second. “I mean, alright.” 

Dean nodded approvingly, and Castiel wasn’t sure if he should ask the question that was rolling around in his head, but he realized that a chance like this might never come back, and he  _ had _ to know.

He cleared his throat, hesitating for a moment. 

“So…” he asked. “How come it ended?”

Dean sighed, kicking the heel of his boot loosely against the floor.

“It’s a bit complicated…” he mumbled. Cas nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. ‘Complicated’ didn’t even cover half of it.

“I miss him,” Dean said suddenly, eyes still fixed on his feet. “Sometimes I just wish I could see him again, you know?”

Cas nodded once more, his brain still far too numbed out for rational thinking, or for him to even risk opening his mouth at the moment.

“It’s so stupid,” Dean muttered, as if he hadn’t noticed Castiel’s lack of response. “I mean, if I hadn’t been such an idiot I could have asked him—” He cut himself off. “I’m not even sure why I’m telling you this.”

“Me neither,” Castiel confessed quietly, feeling his heart sink. Dean snorted.

“I mean, five minutes ago I could have sworn you were some kind of double agent of Zachariah’s, and now here I am telling you my life story, geez.”

“You thought I was a spy?” Castiel asked, finding the thought too unrealistic to even be offensive. Dean shrugged sheepishly.

“Well… You had the mandatory trench coat,” he defended himself. Now it was Castiel’s turn to snort.

“So if I had worn a furry hat, would that have made me Russian?” he wondered, causing Dean’s lip to twitch. He knew, deep inside that he shouldn’t keep the conversation up like this, that he should be looking for ways to end it rather than continuing it, but seeing the way the shadow on Dean’s face lightened up, he just couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out.

“I don’t know,” Dean sniggered in answer to his question. “If you’re a spy, you could probably fake that you’re Russian, so I’m not sure if the hat would be necessary.”

“I actually speak Russian,” Cas recalled, cursing his suddenly very talkative mouth the moment the word left his lips. “Or rather, I know one phrase, but it still counts,” he mumbled, trying to palliate his clumsily laid claim, but Dean was already a step ahead of him.

“Really?” The other couldn’t have sound like he believed him less. “Prove it,” he dared.

“I told you, it’s only one phrase…” Cas tried, but when Dean just sent him a challenging eyeful he cleared his throat, looked up at the ceiling and sighed. 

“ _ Pay Dadna _ , ” he said, the Russian accent trickling off his tongue like water. At first Dean just stared at him as if he thought Cas had just made the words up.

“What the hell does that mean?” he asked, barely holding back a disbelieving grin and Cas shrugged.

“It means ‘Drink to the bottom’,” he translated. “I learned it on a business trip to Russia a few years ago. They took us out for drinks and that sentence is the only thing I can remember from that entire night. That, and that telling your host that you’re a homosexual will send you plummeting head first into a speed dating session with his  _ very _ unattractive second cousin,” he added, getting rewarded by another snorted out laugh from Dean.  

“I thought I would have to convince him that I suffered from some incurable disease to get rid of him,” he continued, spurred by the positive reaction, but horrified by the sound of his own voice, blabbering away. “But it turned out that he didn’t think that highly of me either. We ended up mixing drinks behind the bar later. He was kind of nice.”

“He didn’t turn you fluent, then?” Dean teased. “Or teach you a few Russian pickup lines?”

Castiel rolled his eyes at him.

“Oh, by midnight I was fluent alright,” he muttered, fully aware that he was actually just rambling, wincing inwardly because he should  _ stop talking _ , right the fuck  _ now. _ His tongue seemed to have taken on a life of its own, spewing words out before his own brain had a chance to keep up with what he was saying. 

“By the time I got back to the hotel I had mastered the linguistics of ‘Drunk’ most impressively,” he continued, grimacing when Dean let out a low, highly amused chuckle. “Learning the language of ‘Hung-over’ the morning after wasn’t as enjoyable though, but apparently one can’t have one without the other.”

By now, Dean was laughing out loud, leaning his head back to thud heavily against the cupboard with a wide grin on his face.

“Holy shit, you must be a real handful when you get drunk,” he laughed. If Castiel’s brain immediately provided him with very graphic images of what Dean meant by ‘handful’ then it was in no means whatsoever his fault.

“I have got to take you out sometime,” Dean grinned. “There’s a place down town—I’m telling you, the bartender there should get an award or something—they have this shot called ‘Purple Nurple’ that tastes like a mix between coconut and apples. I promise, you’re gonna love them.”

But Castiel wasn’t listening. He was staring at the man in front of him as if he had suddenly grown an extra head; the thought of alcoholic beverages being the last thing on his mind. For all he knew his heart was no longer beating inside his chest, because what Dean just said had sounded like— like—

“Are you… asking me out?” he stuttered. Dean’s brain seemed to pull a complete freeze frame before it, too, caught up with what he had just said.

“I—Well, I—” A tongue darted out to swipe along a full bottom lip. Dean swallowed hard, as if the full weight behind the suggestion had just occurred to him as well. 

“I guess if… if you want—”

And of course, because nothing could ever be simple,  _ this _ was the moment Sam decided to come crashing into the kitchen. Both Dean and Castiel took a startled jump back from one another, realizing that somewhere during their conversation they had drifted far closer than what would be considered casually acceptable to peering eyes.

“Hey, you two getting along out here?” Sam beamed, striding over to fiddle with the coffee machine by the corner, pulling out filters and coffee beans from the cupboards. Castiel was convinced he could have strangled him with the pure force of his mind, had he been given the chance.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Dean grumbled, pushing off the counter while rubbing his hand across the back of his neck.

“Oh, great!” Sam’s face lit up like a christmas tree in relief. “Gabe said things seemed a little tense between you two when he left, so I thought—”

“It’s okay, Sam,” Castiel assured him. Some distant part of him still felt like giving the other a fist to the face, but that would be like kicking a puppy, and no matter his frustration, that was just  _ wrong _ . “We’re getting along just fine.”

He could feel the weight of Dean’s gaze on his face as he said it, and he felt a slow, rising heat creep up his neck and make his ears flush in response. A quick glance to his left, however, showed that Dean was showing no such signs of embarrassment. However, he apparently found the pink glow of Castiel’s cheeks absolutely hilarious, judging from the way his lips kept on twitching, trying to contain a poorly withheld grin. If Castiel hadn’t been so head over heels in love with the guy he would probably have kicked at him; not too hard of course, but hard enough to make a point…

“What are you sloths doing out there? I want my coffee!” Gabriel’s voice was loud and annoyed as it rang out from the couch in the other room, and Castiel had barely managed to resist his initial urge to snap out something rude in return when it continued: “Sam, you were supposed to  _ keep them _ from fucking each other against the interior, not stand there and  _ watch! _ ”

For a few seconds, there was a thick, loaded silence smothering the kitchen, and Castiel thought for a honest to God moment that he was going to kill himself right there. Seriously, he would make himself choke to death on a coffee filter if he had to, because there could not possibly be a death more humiliating than the situation he was in right now. 

Then he heard a strangled, wheezing sound coming from his right. He turned his head only to be faced with the sight of Dean, struggling desperately to keep his face under control, but the moment Castiel shocked stare landed on him, the dam broke. 

For the first time in over a month, the sound of Dean’s unrestrained laughter filled Castiel’s ears, sending delicate flutters down his spine, and before he knew it, he found himself grinning back like a complete idiot. He almost startled himself when he heard his own laugh mix in with Dean’s, and it didn’t take long before Sam joined as well, the three of them soon standing in the middle of the kitchen, doubled over with tears streaming down their faces.

Castiel was so tired, so completely  _ exhausted, _ and this day was so completely fucked up beyond belief, because he  _ knew _ that none of this was supposed to be  _ that  _ funny. But right now, right there, laughing together with Dean again was like a remedy to his stressed out brain, and for a short span of time, he actually felt content and at ease, Dean’s body like a calming presence at his side. 

By the time Gabriel came stomping into the kitchen, testily demanding his coffee, Dean was slumped down over the counter, struggling desperately to catch his breath. Castiel had buried his face in his own hands, certain that if he kept watching Dean’s fatal attempts to get back up he would without a doubt die from lack of oxygen within the following minute and a half.

“What the hell is so funny?” Gabriel asked, eyes glowering from one face to another. The sheer expression on his face—as if he had just realized that something incredibly funny had happened and he had missed out on the whole thing—looked so comical and absolutely hysterically disgruntled that all Cas could produce was a garbled noise in the back of his throat at the sight of it.

When they all finally managed to calm down after about ten additional minutes, Gabriel was back sulking in the sofa. It took them four sugar filled cups of chocolate-cream-coffee and a bone crushing body hug from Sam to get him to at least talk to them again. It was a mild success, seeing as the first thing he grumbled out was a low and grumpy ‘ _ you’re all dicks _ ’ which they all shared amused glances over before settling down to work out the remaining details of the plan. Cas tried to concentrate on the things being said around him, but to be honest, he wasn’t doing a very good job. 

Dean asked him out.

As in a date. With just the two of them. For an entire evening. 

And yes, Castiel was well aware that hadn’t officially accept the offer yet, but… it was  _ Dean _ . Asking  _ him! _ Now just how the hell was supposed to process something like that? 

A flicker in the corner of his eye distracted him from Sam’s show and tell on the laptop. When he turned his head, he saw the green ocean of Dean’s eyes glisten at him, a secretive little smile playing in the corner of his mouth as if the two of them shared a secret; an inside joke that only the two of them understood. 

For some reason, that smile didn’t make Castiel’s brain panic and go darting to conclusions like it had before. Instead, it spread a warm, soothing feeling through his chest that enabled him to gather himself enough to shoot back a smile of his own, before returning his attention to the computer and the task at hand. The steady pounding of  _ Dean, Dean, Dean _ was still washing through him, making his breath shiver on occasion, but it was calmer this time, as if pleased with the current situation.

Later, he promised himself silently, trying to keep his eyes from throwing sideward glances at the man standing just a few, alluring feet away. Later, when this was all over, he would make sure to explain everything to Dean, to make him understand, but not now. Not tonight, and not here in front of everyone. Dean would understand, surely.

_ Later… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading <3   
> Please, feel free to leave a comment on your thoughts of the story so far! :)


	10. 10

“You look frickin’ ridiculous, dude.”

Gabriel smirked, waving Dean’s comment off with a nonchalant flick of his wrist as he slammed the car door shut with his foot.

“I look snappy,” he retorted confidently. “You’re just jealous because you’re not able to pull this look off yourself.” 

Dean snorted, loudly, and leaned off the roof of the Impala to join the shorter man on the other side of the vehicle.

“As if I’d wanna parade around town looking like a long lost member of the Village People,” he scoffed, but Gabe just rolled his eyes at him.

“Like I said; jealous.” He made an inviting motion towards the building in front of them. “Shall we?” 

Their shoes scraped against the asphalt as they made their way across the lot, Dean’s heavy boots sounding louder than Gabriel’s lighter dress shoes, kicking up the dust as they went. They hadn’t even made it halfway when Dean stopped abruptly and turned towards Gabriel with a wince.

“We’re never going to get in with you looking like that,” he groaned. “No one’s going to believe you’re a professional with that thing on.”

“What are you talking about?” Gabriel objected indignantly. “Of course they will.”

Dean scratched the back of his neck, searching for words.

“Couldn’t you have picked something with a little less…?” He waved his hand through the air in a fruitless attempt to convey what he meant. “I don’t know, just  _ less? _ ” he finished lamely, hand dropping to his side.

Gabriel peered down at himself with a scowl and gestured to his attire, obviously not understanding what the problem was.

“What’s wrong with this?” he demanded and Dean bit his lip as he looked the shorter man up and down, trying his best to not grimace. The suit was fine. It looked expensive, as did the shoes and the black leather briefcase. Dean had no idea where Gabriel had gotten hold of them; it certainly wasn’t stuff he had expected Gabriel to own for himself. His hair had been carefully arranged, the brown strands combed back in well slicked waves and looked, for lack of a better word, neat. It all looked good. Great even… but then there was the  _ moustache _ .

The beard was not a problem, that part he would even go as far as to say that he liked, but the  _ mustache _ … It looked like the one Burt Reynolds had worn in Smokey and the Bandit, only browner and… less solid. 

Dean couldn’t put his finger on what it was about it that made him feel so hesitant. Perhaps it was the fact that he had never seen Gabriel’s face anything but clean-shaven. Then again, Cas had assured Sam the day before that the fake moustache looked very close to the real facial hair Gabriel had grown and worn a few years ago, and if Cas was okay with it, then…

He threw a quick look at himself. Taking in the image of his torn jeans and rugged leather jacket, he realized with a sharp stab to his pride that next to Gabriel he must look like something pulled out of the gutter, facial hair or no.

“Nothing,” he muttered, turning away. “Forget I said anything.” He resumed their path across the lot, and Gabriel followed suit with an uncaring shrug and a childishly stuck out tongue that Dean pretended not to see.

The Edenstar company building rose high above their heads as they reached the big glass doors that lead to the lobby. Dean suppressed the unpleasant shiver that ran up his spine as they stepped inside. The structure had always given him the creeps. In his opinion, it was far too big and far too pompous to be anything but malevolent… 

Gabriel, on the other hand, showed no signs whatsoever of being put down by the construction’s superior irradiation. He simply strode up to the reception and tapped his knuckles against the countertop, drawing the attention of the blonde woman sitting behind it.

“Good afternoon.” He greeted, all confident smiles. “My friend and I are here to see Zachariah.”

The woman blinked at him, as if he had just spoken using the words of a foreign language, but then she seemed to catch on to what he was saying, and dove into the computer on the other side of the counter.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a few seconds of fervent typing. “Mr. Adler does not have any appointments scheduled for today.”

Gabriel frowned, putting on an expression of genuine surprise.

“That’s odd,” he remarked. “He knew we were coming. He must have forgotten to write it down; he’s a busy man, after all.” He motioned to the elevator at the other end of the room. “Which floor is he on? We can see ourselves up; spare him the waiting.” 

The woman just glared at him as if he’d just suggested that the two of them should elope together and conceive twelve-or-so snotty nosed kids.

“I’m sorry,” she said dryly. “Without an official invitation there’s no way I can possibly—”

“Richard? Richie, is that you?”

All three of them turned around as the new voice sounded behind them. Even though he had expected it and already knew who it was, Dean barely managed to suppress the vicious jolt of heat that went through his gut when he turned around and saw Castiel coming towards them; his suit jacket casually flung over his shoulder and a briefcase in a firm grip of his other hand. 

Dean tried his best not to stare, he really, really did, but it was hard not to, because Castiel looked  _ good _ . Like really,  _ really _ good. Dark hair with just that hint of post-sex ruffle that made Dean want to drag his hands through it, and a shade of stubble on his chin that he was sure would give just the right amount of scratch during a kiss. His lips were practically begging to be licked and nipped, by both tongue and teeth, and then, of course, there was  _ the suit _ . 

Dean didn’t like suits. They were all too strict and uncomfortable, but Castiel… Castiel made suits look  _ ridiculously  _ hot. The man had a body made for Armani and Versace; the light material of his white dress shirt stretching over the lithe muscles of his arms and shoulders when he moved. And not that he was looking, but Dean was almost certain that he was able to hint the outline of a nipple through the white fabric. Not that he was looking…

“ _ Castiel? _ ” Gabriel gawked. “What in God’s name are you doing here?” Gabriel stared at his brother as if he had magically sprung out of the ground, Cas mimicking the expression flawlessly as he placed his briefcase on the floor by his feet, extending his hand in greeting.

“I could say the same to you,” he retorted cordially, obviously expecting a handshake, but Gabriel swatted the outstretched hand away in favor of pulling the other man in for a hug. It was a short, masculine, but very fond greeting; like one exchanged between two old friends who had not seen each other for a very long time, and yet it still managed to set off an unexpected spark of possessive jealousy inside Dean’s chest. 

For a split second, Dean wished that they could have played this differently; that Dean could have been the one in a suit, currently with his arms wrapped around Castiel’s body. The sudden thought sent his heart staggering with a genuine version of the acted surprise that painted Castiel’s face when he stepped back from his brother’s embrace to study the other’s clothing.

“You look different,” he offered, sounding amused. “Last time I saw you, you wouldn’t wear a suit at gunpoint.”

Gabriel grimaced.

“It comes with the job, I’m afraid.”

“You’re here on business?” Cas made it sound as if this was something highly unlikely, and Dean marveled at how the two of them managed to act acquaintances so flawlessly.

“Yeah, my client and I have a meeting with old Zachy-boy upstairs, but apparently I can’t go up unless my name’s in the books and, well…” He gestured to the woman behind the counter who immediately went wide-eyed and dove back behind the computer screen when Castiel’s eyes followed the movement. Catching the woman’s sudden disappearance, Cas chuckled, nothing more than a soft exhale of breath, but for some reason the sound still managed to make Dean’s toes curl.

“Don’t worry about that,” he assured them, turning back towards Gabriel. “If Zachariah’s expecting you, then you should just go on up. He gets cranky if he has to wait.” He sent a sideward glance towards Dean, who quickly ducked his head away, not wanting to be caught staring. 

“I hope it’s nothing too serious?” Cas asked, lowering his voice a little, but keeping it loud enough so that the snoopy blonde behind the counter could still hear.

“No, only a few clauses that needs to be discussed, it shouldn’t take long,” Gabriel assured him back and Castiel nodded, seemingly pleased.

“I see. Well, good luck to you then. Zachariah’s office is on the sixteenth floor. Talk to the receptionist when you get up there, she’ll send you in.”

He offered Gabriel his hand for a second time and this time Gabriel took it.

“It was nice seeing you again, Rich,” Cas said and Gabriel grinned back.

“You too, Cassie.”

A glimpse of a frown dashed across Castiel’s face at the name and he pulled Gabriel in closer.

“Now, don’t screw this up,” he whispered, this time low enough not to be heard by any unwelcomed bystanders. “I may not like the people in charge here, but I want to keep my job.”

“C’mon bro, since when have I screwed anything up?” Gabriel grinned, making Castiel cock a sarcastic brow at him.

“You really want me to answer that?” he mumbled, but Gabriel simply grinned ever wider and gave his brother a pat on the shoulder. Then he leaned in and whispered something into the other man’s ear that Dean couldn’t hear. Castiel's cheeks immediately tinted a faint shade of pink before he muttered a silent, but heated ‘shut up’ to his brother and pulled away.

“See you around,” Gabriel said and Cas nodded, stealing another quick glance in Dean’s direction before continuing past them towards the door, briefcase back in hand.

Dean watched him go from the corner of his eye, trying to avoid getting his gaze stuck on the way those dark suit pants hugged around the other man’s rear, but without succeeding very well. It was a damn fine rear; firm and muscular from the looks of it... Just enough meat on there to make it grope-able… 

Really, those slacks didn’t do that ass justice. Jeans. That’s what Dean wanted to see on that body. Not necessarily with anything else. In fact, he could do without the jeans too. He also realized that he should probably stop thinking about things like that while still in public, but damn it, how was he supposed to do that? Especially now, when Cas was right  _ there _ ; like bottled sex waiting to be uncorked, with those goddamn  _ eyes _ that had the ability to make Dean go from celibate to near-orgasm in two seconds flat! Fuck, it was as if— If Dean didn’t know any better, he would have said that—     

The memory of blown pupils encased in dazzling blue, the faint smell of oil and gasoline along with the sound of a hitched breath, suddenly flashed through his brain. He abruptly shut his eyes, ripping his gaze away from Castiel just as the other man walked through the large front doors and disappeared out of sight.  

Wishful thinking, that’s all that was. Sure, there were likenesses, but those were all coincidences. Mere circumstances. His imagination playing tricks on him. He was  _ projecting _ , that’s what was going on here. He was thinking about  _ him _ so much that he was starting to imagine things. 

So Cas had blue eyes. Big deal. A lot of people had blue eyes. He had a brother, sure, but so did Dean; it wasn’t as if either of them had patented the right to have siblings. Sure, he worked at Edenstar, was a suit—a highly respected member of the board even, which fit the profile more than well—but that didn’t mean anything. Even Castiel’s voice—and good God, Dean had really tried not to think about that voice—didn’t mean a thing.

Dean knew perfectly well how the human psyche worked. Start thinking about something hard enough, and you’ll start seeing proof of it absolutely everywhere. Deliberation, projection, anticipation, imagination; all of them magnificently cruel ways of getting your mind tied up in knots over things that didn’t even exist. 

It was stupid.  _ He  _ was stupid.

Of course, the thought had crossed his mind, more than once. And of course, he had felt the sharp flicker of hope flare up inside his chest the very first time Castiel opened up his  _ stupid  _ mouth, letting that  _ stupid  _ voice— Oh, sweet Jesus, that  _ voice… _

It was ridiculous, he had told himself. 

It was terrifying.

It actually scared him, how alike they were, Blue and Cas. It scared him, because what if that’s all there was to it? Likeness. Close, but not the same. How would he ever be able to accept that? At this point, he wasn’t sure whether it would be a healthier option for him to keep hoping for the impossible, or to just accept that Castiel was exactly what he seemed to be; a normal fucking dude, trying to do the right thing. 

Not that there was anything wrong with being normal, or with Cas in general for that matter. Cas was… odd, yes, but not… unpleasantly so.

Dean wasn’t going to deny the fact that a certain Mr. Novak had taken up a fair deal of his mind lately, but that was only natural. Castiel was  _ hot _ , and there was no shame in Dean finding him attractive. Even if the initial spark had been caused by the fact that he had thought and wished for him to be someone else…  

God, that night in Bobby’s workshop… For a moment there, he had been so sure, so  _ certain _ , and then— 

He mentally kicked himself. 

No. No, no, no. He had to stop thinking about that; he’d only end up hurting himself if he didn’t. The disappointment if he turned out to be wrong would be too raw, much too soon. It wasn’t real. Blue was  _ gone _ . Dean should just get his head out of the gutter and focus on the  _ now _ . They were performing a goddamn  _ heist  _ here, which meant that this was absolutely not the time to zone out over the past. Cas was not Blue, end of story! 

Because surely, if Castiel really  _ was  _ Blue, then shouldn’t he have recognized Tiger’s—Dean’s—voice by now? Shouldn’t he have said something? Given him some sort of sign?

Not that Dean had been giving Castiel any signs, but that wasn’t the same thing. Not really… As if trying to ask if someone jerked off in the company showers with total strangers on a regular basis was a question you weaved into a casual conversation, just like that?

God, Dean could imagine the look on Castiel’s face, should he have asked something like that. The mortification alone… Yeah, that’d be a sure fire way to fuck things up, alright. Not that there was anything to fuck up… yet.

It wasn’t as if the thought of getting together with Castiel made him feel uncomfortable. As a matter of fact, it actually excited him. He could totally picture himself spending time alone with Cas, doing whatever. Seriously, why was he even wasting time thinking about Blue when Cas was right there in front of him, literally screaming golden opportunity at his face?

He was just being stupid.

Then again, if only—

He was rudely pulled out of his brooding when Gabriel suddenly cleared his throat. Dean turned around just in time to see the suit clad man focus his attention back at the receptionist with a hinged brow.

“So is it okay if we…?” He gestured towards the elevator again and the woman nodded quickly, seemingly shrinking behind the counter.

“Of course, go ahead,” she mumbled, and Gabriel fired off another one of his certified douchebag smiles in return.

“Thank you very much.”

Dean hid an amused snicker behind his hand as they walked past, but when the elevator closed its doors behind them and started moving upwards, he turned back to Gabriel with a grin.

“I guess you really were telling the truth when you said Cas’s pretty well respected around here?” he offered casually and Gabriel shrugged.

“Respected enough to get us past the front desk, at least.”

“Yeah, that worked better than I thought…” Dean admitted. He threw a quick glance at the other before continuing. “So, he’s never, I don’t know… told you what he does?” 

Gabriel shrugged again, not really seeming to focus on what he was being asked.

“Nah,” he said. “All I know is that he spends most of his time in meetings, handling the company's clients. I can’t really tell, he doesn’t talk about work much. And frankly, it’s a bit too dull for me to care about.” 

“Then what  _ does  _ he talk about?” Dean prodded and Gabe turned to him with his brow raised.

“Cas?” He looked as if asking about his brother was the most boring subject ever, and that he was genuinely surprised that Dean would bring something like that up. “To be honest, he doesn’t really talk that much about anything. He was always a quiet kid. Socially awkward and all that.”

“He doesn’t seem that awkward to me,” Dean objected and Gabriel chuckled.

“Yeah, but that’s because you’re—” he abruptly cut himself off and Dean’s ears perked intently.

“Because I’m what?” he urged. Gabriel clenched his jaw and glared at him, as if Dean’s curiosity suddenly had turned extremely offensive, but after a few seconds of intense glowering he sighed deeply, defeated.

“Okay, so you’ve probably already figured out that my brother is, so to speak, batting for the other team. As in, you know, the  _ gay  _ team…”

Dean nodded, wondering if he should mention that Cas had actually told him this himself that night in Sam’s kitchen, but he kept his mouth shut, listening intently. 

“And the thing is…” Gabriel continued, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Well… Cas likes you, okay? And in contradiction to what one would think, when Cas gets nervous, he doesn’t shut down and go quiet like every other person would. His mouth goes on a wild rampage and he says things he shouldn’t; it’s  _ not  _ pretty to witness. Most of the time he ends up insulting the person he’s talking too a good few times over, before he gets a hold of himself enough to leave the room. So if you’re telling me you haven’t noticed any of that…” He laughed, shaking his head. “Then I guess you must be just as socially awkward as he is.”

Dean stared at him, blinking slowly. First once, then twice.

“So…” he swallowed, trying to kick his brain back into gear. “Cas likes me?” he asked slowly.

Gabriel looked at him for a few seconds, then he sighed and rolled his eyes with resignation.

“You’re a frickin’ match made in heaven,” he muttered under his breath, just as the elevator doors opened with a faint ping. Gabriel stepped out and Dean followed him in silence, his already momentarily dazed mind staggering backwards when faced with the new interior of the room outside. He grimaced inwardly at the sight. 

The sixteenth floor was decorated completely in white. White paneled walls, white marble floor and white furniture; everything adorned with details of polished gold. The interior was presented in a flamboyant, Victorian design, from the golden fixtures of the lamps to the heavy, silk clad couches and the hand carved details on the opal infused table next to it. As they walked through the room, Dean spotted a white, marble sculpture standing next to a vulgarly large flower decoration on the receptionist’s desk. It was big, almost as tall as his lower arm was long, and it depicted an angel, standing with its wings spread and arms reaching out in what seemed to be an embrace. 

He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but the entire thing looked so  _ smug _ . As if the fact that it had wings somehow made it better than whoever it aimed its embrace towards. As they walked by, Dean’s entire being itched to fling the annoying artwork to the ground and watch it shatter into tiny, satisfying pieces.

The receptionist looked up behind the desk as they approached and Dean’s brain immediately started taking down mental notes. A young woman, brunette, kind of cute, no jewelry, no visible tattoos or piercings, grey pantsuit, professionally looking… If it hadn’t been for the sharp, evaluating way her eyes locked onto them both as they approached, Dean would have written her off as corporatively stupid right away. 

Gabriel walked up, still confident as ever and leaned against the counter with one elbow, smiling in greeting. She did not smile back.

“Can I help you?” she asked, looking them up and down with a distrusting expression that, in Dean’s opinion, was completely uncalled for.

“Yes, we are here to see Mr. Adler, please.” Gabriel lied with a beaming smile, adopting the last name he had been given by the woman downstairs without as much as a hitch. Unfortunately, Dean could have told him straight away what the answer to that request would be.

“He’s not expecting anyone today.”

Gabriel nodded.

“Yes, we went over that with the lady downstairs—“

“Ruby.”

“I’m sorry?” Gabriel blinked and the girl looked at him blankly.

“Her name is Ruby,” she repeated shortly. Gabriel cleared his throat with a slight cough.

“Oh… Uh, well, anyway, you see, it’s very important that we get to see Mr. Adler today because—”

“Important to you, or important to him?”

At that Gabriel’s smile actually faltered.

“To him,” he answered dryly, to which the girl gave him a raised brow in return.

“And if it’s so important to him, then how come he hasn’t told me that you were coming?” she asked sweetly and Dean cringed inside. She was dangerously clever, this one.

“Because he doesn’t know about it yet,” Gabriel deadpanned.

“I see. Then I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” 

“Now hold on—”

Dean saw the girl’s face cloud over and quickly stepped in between, placing a firm hand on Gabriel’s shoulder to silence him.

“What my friend here is trying to say…” he looked at the employment card attached to the girl’s blouse. “… Meg, is that the subject we would like to discuss with Mr. Adler are sort of…. delicate.”

“Delicate?” The level of skepticism in her voice was only rivaled by the expression on her face.

“Yeah.” He let off an apologetic smile. “And I understand that you wouldn’t want to disturb him unless it was absolutely necessary, but believe me when I tell you that he’s  _ really  _ going to want to talk to us. I would hate for you to get into any trouble for not even asking him if he wants to see us.”

At that, Meg’s lip actually twitched slightly.

“So what you’re saying is,” she mused. “That you want to talk to Mr. Adler in order to keep me out of trouble?” 

Dean tilted his head, shamelessly looking her up and down through half lidded eyes.

“A pretty girl like you don’t deserve to get into trouble. Unless you want to of course?” he added smoothly, promptly ignoring the horrified look Gabriel sent his way.

Meg leaned in over the counter, returning the blatant examination he had just given her before sitting back down again.

“That depends on the trouble,” she admitted, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Oh, don’t even think about it, sweetheart,” Dean challenged. “You couldn’t handle my kind of trouble.”

“I’m a big girl,” she assured him. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Well…” Dean rested his elbows on the countertop, lowering his voice and forcing Meg to lean in closer in order to hear him. “If you would be willing to make that one little call to your boss’ office, I might be inclined to hold you to your word on that.”

“When?” she asked bluntly.

“How does Friday at eight sound?”

“Like a date.”

“Awesome.” Dean straightened up with a grin, receiving another dark look from Gabriel before the shorter man stepped in between once more.

“Tell Mr. Adler that Mr. Winchester is here with his lawyer.”

Meg’s smile washed off her face the moment Gabriel opened his mouth, and it was with a sour glare that she pushed in the button of her headset.

“Sir, there is a Mr. Winchester with legal representation here to see you.”

There was a short silence and then Meg straightened up in her seat and nodded sharply.

“Yes, sir. I’ll send them in right away.” She pushed the button of the headset once more and gestured towards the door on the opposite side of the room. “Mr. Adler will see you now,” she bit out towards Gabriel before turning to Dean with a smile. “Seems like you were right after all; I owe you one.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to repay me later,” Dean managed to assure her before Gabriel grabbed hold of his jacket and more or less hauled him away.

“See you Friday,” Meg called after him and Dean flailed his arm in a makeshift wave before turning to the shorter man currently dragging him across the room. 

“Hey, watch it!” he hissed silently, tugging himself free.

“Keep it in your pants, Romeo,” Gabriel muttered back. Dean scowled.

“What’s with the attitude?” he asked. “She didn’t even like you and besides, the last time I checked, you were already dating my brother.”

Gabriel opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he looked away, shaking his head. 

“And you’re painfully single it seems...” he grumbled instead, reaching out to place a hand on the doorknob, but Dean’s fingers around his wrist stopped him.

“Hey,” Dean snapped. “We had to get in, and I got us in. If you don’t like the way I did it, then that’s your problem, but don’t you go shoving that stuck-up attitude in my face for no good reason.”

Gabriel glared at him, jaw clenching and unclenching as he seemed to mull his words over.

“Fine,” he grumbled eventually, pulling his hand free. “Just don’t forget why we’re here.”

Before Dean had the time to retort, Gabriel pushed the door open, and without waiting he walked inside, slipping seamlessly into his role of douchebag lawyer faster than Dean could bat an eyelid. Biting back a frustrated growl, Dean straightened up and followed his associate inside, the anger that had been born from Gabriel’s sudden shift in attitude instantly redirecting itself to a new target when he spotted the man sitting on the other side of the room’s vulgarly large oak desk. Closing the door, he watched Gabriel walk up to Dean’s former boss, hand stretched out in greeting and with a smile so sleazy it would have made Dean’s skin crawl had it been directed towards him.

“Mr. Adler, a pleasure to meet you. I’m Richard Speight, Mr. Winchester’s attorney.”

Zachariah returned Gabriel’s smile with one almost identical to it—one that Dean remembered all too well—and his hand was firm when it clasped around Gabriel’s.

“Please, call me Zachariah.” He gestured to the two large leather chairs on the other side of the desk, and they both sat down as Zachariah lowered himself back into his own seat. 

Dean immediately decided that he didn’t like the chairs. The armrests and the back were too high and they gave him a feeling of being boxed in. He couldn’t see the door even if he looked over his shoulder, and he did not find the view of their escape route being blocked very reassuring. 

If Gabriel felt the same way though, then he wasn’t showing it. Leaned back, legs confidently crossed and with his hands folded in his lap, his entire demeanor was giving off a steady aura of professionalism while simultaneously making him look like the most untrustworthy legal counsel ever to walk the planet. That last part, if Dean had to guess, being Gabriel’s own charming personality shining through.

“So, gentlemen.” Zachariah opened up his arms in an inviting gesture. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well.” Gabriel motioned discretely towards Dean. “To get straight to the point, my client here has a few questions regarding his termination that he has expressed a desire to discuss. I’m here as legal counsel and witness.”

“Oh?” Zachariah turned his eyes to Dean, who met the gaze with a poorly contained glare. “And what kind of questions would they be, since apparently he believes they need to be witnessed by a lawyer?”

“For starters, I’d like to know where my money is,” Dean growled out, his politeness not reaching beyond that of a snarl.

“Money?” Zachariah asked, lacing his fingers together and politely placing the hands on top of the desk with a puzzled look on his face.

“Yes, my money,” Dean repeated grimly. “More specifically; the five months worth of pay that your human resources department refuses to give me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Zachariah gave a small chuckle that made Dean want to punch his face in. “If I remember correctly, you forfeited that money to the company at the point of your termination.”

“Like hell I did,” Dean spat and Zachariah’s eyes hardened.

“It was part of our  _ agreement _ , remember?” he reminded, a sharp edge sneaking into his tone. Dean pushed up from his seat and slammed his palms down on top of the desk, making Zachariah retract his hands with a slight flinch.

“Screw your agreement!” he snarled. “I want my money, you bald son of a bitch!”

Gabriel quickly leaned over and placed a firm hand on Dean’s chest, slowly pushing him back into his seat.  

“Dean, please, calm down. I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation.” His voice was soothing, but when he turned to Zachariah it grew hard and pointy. “If Mr. Adler would be so kind as to go over the terms of this agreement for me, perhaps things will become a bit clearer?” 

“What is there to go over?” Dean snapped. “I already told you that they stole my money, threatened me and—”

“ _Excuse_ _me_?” This time it was Zachariah who stood up from his chair and Dean followed suit, hands balling into fists by his sides.

“You heard me,” he hissed. “You threatened me, then you stole my money, and now I want it back!”

Gabriel vigilantly rose from his own seat, hands held out in a peaceful attempt to calm the situation down.

“Gentlemen, please—” he started, but Zachariah interrupted him.

“This is the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard!” he spat. “Are you insinuating that I would—“

“I’m not insinuating a goddamn thing,” Dean snarled. “I’m spelling it out for you!”

“Mr. Winchester,” Gabriel winced. “Please sit down, this is not—“

“What are you barking at me for?” Dean whirled around towards him, pointing an accusing finger at Zachariah. “ _ He’s  _ the bad guy! Have at him instead!”

“I’m not going to sit here and listen to this!” Zachariah reached for the panel of his desk phone, but before he could lay a finger on it, Dean was already fisting his hands in the other man’s pristine suit jacket. Hauling him over the top of the desk, Dean then threw Zachariah down onto the floor along with what looked like a very expensive glass bowl filled with paper clips. The bowl hit the carpet with a loud bang, proceeding to scatter tiny metallic clips across the entire floor.

“You greedy bastard!” Dean growled, shoving the other man down so hard, the back of Zachariah’s head banged against the floorboards.

“Dean, what are you doing?!” Gabriel’s voice cracked, sounding absolutely horrified at what he was witnessing, while Zachariah twisted around, trying to make Dean let go of him.

“Get him off me!” he yelled at Gabriel, but the only thing he got was another hard slam to the back of the head.

“Shut up!” Dean hissed. With another strong tug, he dragged the flailing man up from the floor and tossed him across the room, almost knocking an expensive looking vase off its pedestal when Zachariah’s shoulder slammed into it on the way down. By some miracle, it remained standing, still wobbling as Dean strode across the floor in pursuit, Gabriel’s voice like a panicked blabber in the background. He hauled Zachariah up once more, turning him around. That was about the time Zachariah started yelling for security, but Dean silenced him with a quick punch to the gut, knocking the air out of him.

“I thought I told you to shut up.”

Zachariah wheezed something out between gritted teeth and Dean lowered his head down.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“Your brother—“ Zachariah grated out, but he didn’t get much further before Dean was back up in his face, teeth bared in a snarl.

“You think you’re the only one capable of making threats?” he growled. “Huh? Well let me break the news for you; if you touch my brother—if you as much as move him to another  _ desk _ —then there’s not going to be a single place on this earth where you’re gonna be able to hide from me. I’m going to hunt you down and when I find you, I’m going to make the Spanish Inquisition look like a freaking slumber party!”

He reached out and grabbed hold of Zachariah’s jaw, forcing it up so that the other man’s gaze locked with his, bearing down on him with every inch of cold, menacing threat that he could muster.

“So go ahead,” he smiled sweetly. “Tell me again what you’re going to do about my brother, and I’ll rip the bones from your body, one by one, you disgusting little—”

“Dean, that’s enough!”

Suddenly Gabriel’s arms were around Dean’s neck and torso, dragging him back and forcing him to let go of Zachariah, who promptly slumped to the floor, coughing and wheezing.

“I’m so, so sorry Mr. Adler,” Gabriel pleaded. “I had no idea he would do something like this, I assure you—“

“Get out…!” Zachariah spat, and Gabriel nodded, almost bowing down in his remorse.

“Yes, yes of course, we’re leaving right now.”

Pushing Dean in the direction of the door, Gabriel continued to apologize long after Zachariah had begun to pick himself off the floor, and it wasn’t until the office door had closed behind them that he released his grip on Dean’s jacket.

“Did you do it?” Dean grunted, adjusting his clothing with a shrug and Gabriel snorted loudly.

“Please, I had it in there long before you planted your fist in Zachariah’s ribs.” 

Dean’s face split into a wide grin.

“Yeah, that felt good,“ he admitted, but then he frowned, realizing something. “You think we should worry about him calling the cops on us about that?”

Gabriel shook his head.

“He won’t call the cops. Having them snooping around here is the last thing he wants right now.”

Dean nodded eagerly, pulling his fingers through his hair.

“Good, good… Though I should probably have thought about that before I punched him.”

“That could have been a good idea, yeah.”

The elevator doors pinged open behind them and they both turned towards the sound, only to be met by the sight of the largest security guard in the history of creation, stepping out onto the floor, night stick already drawn and with a malevolent look on his face.

“Okay, now just play it cool,” Gabriel whispered, but when he turned back to where Dean had been only seconds ago, he was only met with empty space. Dean himself was already striding towards the receptionist’s desk, waving at the guard with a large smile.

“Hey!” he called out and the guard immediately zoned in on him, looking momentarily puzzled as Dean turned towards Meg who was staring at him in confusion.

“Is this expensive?” he asked politely, pointing at the angel statue he had seen earlier, to which she slowly nodded. Dean’s smile widened into a wolfy grin. 

“Good.”

And with that he placed two fingers behind the angel’s head and slowly tipped it over, grinning proudly at the guard when the delicate object collided with the floor in a loud crash, ceramic pieces scattering like shuffleboard tiles over the well polished, marble surface. Two seconds later he found himself shoved face down against the counter top, a hand the size of a bin lid pushing in between shoulder blades. The night stick pressed tight against his jugular, forcing a gasp out of his lungs, and when he looked up he, found Meg staring at him in pure shock. He fired off a strained smile.

“Looks like I might have to cancel that date,” he grated, choking down a cough when the night stick pressed even closer to his throat in silent warning.

“You’re insane…” Meg said slowly, and before Dean had the time to say anything else he was being hauled off towards the elevator, the guard’s hand fisted in the back of his collar.

“You.” The guard pointed the stick at Gabriel and then at the two stainless doors. “Get in.”

Gabriel quickly obeyed, throwing a worried glance at Dean who was still looking rudely pleased with himself as he got manhandled into the elevator. The guard followed, sending them both warning glares, as if to dare them to try something funny, before he pressed the button to the entrance floor.

As soon as the doors shut, the guard abruptly let go of Dean’s jacket, and the oldest Winchester groaned, rubbing his throat with a reprimanding scowl.

“Jesus, Tiny,” he winced. “I thought I told you to be gentle.”

The large guard huffed silently, reached out and pushed the button for the fourteenth floor as well. Just like that, the veil seemed to drop, and the stone face the guard had been wearing softened as it cracked open in a big grin.

“Sorry, I got a bit carried away.” The giant suddenly stepped forward and pulled Dean in for a bone crushing hug, almost lifting him off the floor in the process. “Shit, man, it’s good to see you!” 

“Yeah,” Dean wheezed into the uniformed shoulder. “You too, buddy.”  

“Where the hell have you been, anyway?” Tiny asked and Dean made a groaning little sound when the hug tightened even further. “You just stopped coming in one day! I had to find out from Rufus that you were even still alive.”

“Sorry,” Dean apologized throatily, tapping the other man’s back urgently. “Air, Tiny, I need to breathe.”

“Oh, sorry.” Tiny immediately let go, allowing Dean to take a stumbled step back. “I keep forgetting about that.”

“Don’t worry about it, buddy.” Dean stretched the kinks out of his back with a huffed out laugh, gesturing with his thumb to Gabriel and himself. “Thanks for helping us out, by the way.” 

Tiny waved him away with a snort.

“Don’t mention it. That douchebag Zachariah needs to be taken down a few pegs.” His face darkened, lips turning into a thin line under the mustache. “You know he tried to make me go fetch him lunch the other day?” he asked incredulously and Dean snorted out another laugh as he shook his head.

“I’m not surprised. The guy thinks he’s some kind of royalty, judging by the way he decorates his office.”

Tiny’s eyes lit up at the words, curiosity now evident on his face.

“Yeah, about that?” he prodded. “You guys wanna tell me what that stunt up there was all about? I know you said not to ask, but… you know.”

Dean threw Gabriel a sideward glance, waiting for Gabriel to return it before he leaned over and gave the giant man a pat on the arm.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he assured him. “Once this cat gets out of the bag, there’s going to be all kinds of hell heading this way.” 

Tiny’s eyes narrowed as he gave the two of them a long, suspicious look.

“You guys aren’t going to get the rest of us in trouble, are you?” he asked warily, but Dean shook his head, holding up his hands.

“Only the ones who deserve it, I promise.” 

Tiny’s shoulders instantly relaxed and as if on cue, the elevator stopped and the doors opened with a chime.

“So this is my stop.” The large man nodded towards the corridor outside. “I trust you to find your own way out?” he grinned.

“We’re good,” Dean assured him, but as the other man walked out he looked up at the corner of the elevator, gesturing to it with a throw of his head. “What about the cameras? Wouldn’t it look weird that you’re leaving us here, in case someone comes snooping around?”

Tiny shook his head, looking appropriately apologetic.

“Sorry, seems like something managed to mess that camera up early this morning. I haven’t had the time to call helpdesk yet.”

Dean nodded, teeth baring in a wide grin.

“I knew I could count on you to have my back.” He winked and then raised his hand as the doors began closing. ”Thanks again, man.”

“Anytime, Dean.” Tiny reached up to tip his hat in response to Dean’s wave, his words slipping through the crack of the doors just as the elevator closed completely.

“Well, he seemed nice,“ Gabriel commented once the elevator started moving once more. “For a giant,” he added thoughtfully, straightening out his jacket.

“Tiny?” Dean asked with a chuckle. “He’s the kindest person south of the North Pole. After a few drinks it’s like trying to fend off the hugs of a large teddy bear.”

Gabriel laughed, the mental imagery provided by those words proving too amusing to resist.

“I can imagine,” he smiled and Dean smiled back before they both fell silent, watching the lit up numbers on the display by the door tick down from number thirteen to twelve.

“I asked him out,” Dean suddenly said and Gabe’s eyebrows shot up.

“Tiny?” he gaped and Dean spluttered, almost choking on his own breath.

“No! Jesus, I wasn’t talking about— No!” Dean looked downright appalled, but then he ducked his head, seemingly getting absorbed by the task of studying his own shoes. “I meant Cas,” he muttered.

“Oh…” Gabriel shot him a long, puzzled look. “I thought you were more of a… ladies man? The way you handled that receptionist and all.”

“It happens,” Dean admitted silently. “Not as much lately as it used to, though.”

“Ah.” Gabriel nodded, as if impressed. “Well, good for you, I guess.”

Ten.

Nine.

“So when’s the date?” he asked and Dean’s shoulders tensed.

“We didn’t say a time,” he grumbled and Gabriel, sensing the defensiveness, dropped the subject.

Eight.

“You think he—” Dean hesitated. “Would he think that I’m being too pushy if I asked him about it again?”

Seven.

Gabriel looked at him, face contemplating and serious. Then the corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he sighed.

Six.

“I think that if you don’t ask him, you’re going to have to wait for that date to happen for a very long time. Not that Cas doesn’t want to go, but because he’s too much of a coward to make the move himself.”

Five.

“Oh.” Dean blinked, and then he returned his eyes to study the floor in between his feet. He hadn’t really meant to mention the date-thing to anyone, but Gabriel revealing that Cas was actually into him had made him change his mind. He felt torn, however. At the moment he wasn’t really sure if he wanted to go on a date with Cas. 

The whole thing had started out as a joke, really… Or at least he thought it had been a joke? Also, being around Cas reminded him too much of Blue, but at the same time… Cas fascinated him, and he wanted to know more about him, but he just wasn’t sure if he was ready.

He recalled the possessive feeling he had experienced in the lobby earlier, the way his very soul had seemed to ache at the prospect to reach out and touch, just a brush of skin or fabric, anything… Perhaps it was time for him to move on? Perhaps Cas was the distraction he needed to set his mind straight again? To make him forget and start over… 

Four.

He could do this. He was Dean Winchester, of course he could take a smoldering hot guy out for a date. Of course he could!

He was going to ask Cas about that date the first chance he got. They could go out somewhere, nothing fancy, just as friends… or something. Relaxed, carefree. No pressure.

As if he had been reading his mind, Gabriel suddenly chuckled next to him.

“You know, I think going on a date would do Cas good. He’s been burying himself in work for almost an entire month now.”

Three.

“Is that so?” Dean asked absentmindedly, being far too busy going through the list of the possible friend-slash-date friendly diners and restaurants he knew to pay attention.

Two.

“Uhu.” Gabriel smirked, giving him a sideward glance. “I mean, earlier, he used to work overtime every single Friday. He even showered here, that’s how late he’d stay. I thought it was just a phase or something, but lately, it’s as if work’s the only thing on his mind. Like he’s trying to compensate for something.”

One.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckled. “The suits around here can get pretty intense sometimes. I’ve only ever met one that I actually kind of li—“ Trailing off, the last word slowly shriveled up and died on the very tip of his tongue. His eyes widened, the sharp inhale of his breath startling the air.

The elevator doors opened with a faint ping.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Cas was pacing anxiously back and forth through Sam’s kitchen when Sam’s phone started vibrating against the table. The two of them flinched violently and Sam snatched the phone up and flipped it open, not even bothering to check the screen for the caller ID.

“Hello,” he grated. Castiel stepped closer while looking at him intently, almost holding his breath. 

“Yeah, Ash got them. Downloading as we speak. How about you, you guys got out okay?”

Sam nodded at the response from the other side of the line, letting out a slow, relieved breath, and Cas felt a rush of air leave his own lungs in response. It had worked. He could barely believe it. Then Sam’s brow suddenly furrowed and he looked up at Cas.

“Yeah, he’s here… Alright, alright, hold on.” He reached the phone out for Castiel to take, looking almost as confused as Cas felt. “It’s for you,” he offered. Cas took the phone with a puzzled frown, bringing the device up to his ear.

“Yes?”

“Hi, Cas.”

Cas’ heart almost stopped beating at the sound of the voice from the other side, and he swallowed hard.

“Dean,” he greeted quietly.

“I’m not gonna hold you, but I was thinking about that date thing. If you still wanna go. How does Friday at eight sound?”

Castiel’s mouth went dry and he could feel a sweat break out on his skin. The date. He hadn’t expected the subject to be raised so soon, yet Friday— That was— 

“Cas? You still there?”

He snapped out of his thoughts when Dean’s voice carried across the phone line, a worried twinge to the words.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I was just— I mean…” He silently cursed himself for stuttering, but he couldn’t help himself. “Friday’s tomorrow,” he ended lamely and on the other side of the line Dean chuckled.

“Yeah… Considering we might all be in jail next week, I was thinking sooner rather than later.” He cleared his throat. “So what do you say?”

And to his horror and utmost dismay, without him giving his mouth even the mildest of consent to do it, Castiel felt his lips move, and the sound that slipped out between them turned his insides to a whirl of butterflies.

“Tomorrow sounds good.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading guys!   
> I'll see you in a week :D <3


	11. 11

Cas was running around his apartment, the stubborn knot of anxiety that had been lodged in his stomach the entire day still sitting heavy in his gut as he scrambled from room to room, looking for one piece of lost clothing after another.

Going to work that morning had been tough. He had spent his entire day cooped up in his office, trying his best not to freak out every time the phone rang, or whenever Becky made some sudden noise outside his door. Ten minutes hadn’t been able to pass in peace without him sending nervous looks towards his locked desk drawer, where the envelope containing all the information Sam and Ash had spent the night retrieving from the mainframe was hidden away. 

Every now and then, he would tug at the drawer handle, just to make sure that it was still locked properly. Of course, no one would be able to enter his office and rummage through his desk without him noticing, but one could never be too careful… Especially not when you had just participated in—and was literally sitting on top of the evidence for—performing the biggest security breach in Edenstar’s history. 

The original plan had been that Sam would be the one to make sure the envelope reached its proper destination, but since Dean had insisted Sam stay out of any sort of public involvement, Cas was now the one who had to do it. 

It had to be done, of course, Castiel knew that, but even though Dean had assured him that he’d do just fine, the psychological responsibility had already begun to wear at him. By the time the postal round finally came around, he expected that the subtle knock on his door would have had him flying off his seat in sheer panic. Instead, he felt a surprising calm settle over him, as if an older, steadier, and more collected part of himself that he had not been aware of before had slid under his skin, taking over. 

It reminded him about the composed feeling he would sometimes get just before closing a big deal with a client. It was oddly reassuring, as if some higher power had reached down and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. He calmly unlocked the drawer and pulled the envelope out, hiding it in his lap behind the cover of his desk before he straightened up, turning back towards the screen of his computer.

“Come in,” he called out. Even the sound of his own voice sounded strange, he noted. As if someone else was talking through him.  _ With _ him. Deep, gravelly and just a tad bit lower in key, as if he was hearing himself talk from a listener’s point of view for the very first time. He frowned. Was this what he sounded like to other people? Was this what Dean had heard that first time when they met in the showers? Because if that was the case, then that whole ‘authority’ talk Tiger had gone on about suddenly felt a lot more believable…

The door to his office opened, revealing the postal cart as it came pushing inside, closely followed by a cap clad head peeking around the door frame.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Novak.”

On the inside, Cas let out a relieved sigh as he happily turned away from his computer, a genuine smile gracing his lips.

“Hello, Alfie,” he greeted politely. “Though, I believe I’ve asked you not to call me that.”

The young man’s smile immediately faltered as the boy bowed his head in a display of abundant remorse.

“Sorry. I meant ‘Good afternoon, Castiel’.”

Castiel laughed at the young man’s exaggerated abashment and got a subtle, cheeky grin from underneath the red cap in return.

“So, I see you got stuck with mail duty today?” he asked, smiling. Alfie shrugged, pushing the cart all the way into the office before closing the door behind him.

“Yeah, Inias got sick.” He grimaced. “Sounded like some nasty kind of flu or something.”

“Yes, I’ve heard there’s been something like that going around,” Cas agreed. Alfie nodded, still grimacing as he began plucking with the cart. 

To be completely honest with himself, Cas was more than just a little relieved by the fact that Alfie was the one collecting the mail today. Inias was nice and all, but he had a tendency to let his curiosity get the better of him. There were rumors going around the office that he read other people’s mail, but Cas was certain that those were just exaggerations. Inias was curious, not rude. 

Still, given the appearance of the envelope in Castiel’s lap, it would have been beyond hard to keep Inias in check long enough to make him deliver it without asking too many questions, maybe even to the wrong people. In comparison to the inquisitive youngster, Alfie felt like a heaven sent.

As if hearing his thoughts, Alfie turned away from the cart and looked at him, still smiling.

“So, you got any mail for me today?” he asked, rubbing his hands together in acted anticipation.

“As a matter of fact I do.” Cas picked up a heap of letters and folders from the corner of his desk, knocking them together against the wooden surface to align them, before handing them to the young man. 

Normally, all internal and external mail were supposed to be placed in individual mail slots in a big mail sorter down the hall. Every floor had their own where the mail routes stopped three times a day to collect mail, but Castiel had managed to get on such good terms with most of the personnel that they all had begun to stop by his office directly instead. It was located right next to the elevators anyway, so it wasn’t as if they had to take a detour.

Alfie was the chattiest one, and strangely enough, also the one whom Castiel liked best. Castiel couldn’t handle small talk well, but with Alfie, conversation flowed smoothly, without awkward silences or empty words. It was probably a side effect of the young man’s enthusiasm; Castiel could not recall ever having seen the kid with a frown on his face.

As of now, Alfie took the letters Castiel handed him with the same beaming smile as he always did, pawing through and placing them one by one in the correct slots of the cart. The letters slid down with dry whispers and Castiel watched them intently, feeling his heart beat steadily inside his chest; the panic he had been expecting still nowhere to be found. He cleared his throat, looking away from the papers disappearing out of sight in favor of fixing his eyes on the youngster’s face.

“So, how are things on the job front?” he asked, and the young boy’s face cracked open in a wide grin, as if he had just been waiting for Castiel to ask. 

“I’ve got an interview on Monday,” he revealed proudly, “but I don’t want to jinx it by saying anything else, you know?” he added quickly, almost apologetic, and Cas held out his hands with a smile. 

“Say no more,” he assured him. “When it comes to landing a job, one can never be too superstitious.”

“I know, right?” Alfie marveled. “Like, you don’t want to believe in the stuff, but at the same time you can’t stop thinking about it either, because what if you’re wrong and accidentally screw something up?”

“I believe that is a very common, human reaction, to be honest,” Castiel nodded. “Nevertheless, I hope the interview turns out well for you, jinxed or not. You have far too much potential than what the postal department here deserves.”

“You think so?” Alfie asked hopefully.

“I do.” Castiel raised an eyebrow in a quizzical arch. “Or perhaps you were planning on spending your entire career collecting mail from boring suits like us?” 

Alfie laughed, shaking his head as he placed the last envelope into the cart.

“Oh, you could never be boring, Mr. Novak.”

Castiel ducked his head away with an embarrassed smile, not even bothering to comment on the official sounding use of his last name. Taking compliments well had never been his forte and even such a small thing as being called ‘not boring’ was enough to make him feel both highly flattered and very uncomfortable at the same time. 

“You’ll do just fine, Alfie, I’m sure.” He cleared his throat, sending the boy a quick glance. “And if you ever need someone to recommend you, you know where to find me.”

“Really?” The young man’s face shone up like a minor sun. “Thank you, sir! Thank you so much!”

Castiel felt heat slowly begin to creep up his cheeks; Alfie’s honesty and open admiration beaming at him with a force that nearly had him squirming in his chair. He cleared his throat again, quickly paging through the remaining papers on his desk, just to distract himself.

“It’s not a problem; I want you to do well,” he explained quickly and then added more sincerely, as an afterthought, “You’re a good kid, Alfie. I’ll miss seeing you around if you end up leaving us.”

“Thank you, sir.” This time it was Alfie who ducked his eyes away and Castiel cleared his throat for what felt like the hundredth time, feeling reality pick at the back of his mind. They needed to move this along, or they would end up in nothing but a long exchange of awkward adoration. Even though he was comfortable in Alfie's presence, Castiel was more than certain that he did not have the social skills required to survive such a situation.

“Well, let me know how it all turns out, okay?” He gave Alfie a quick smile as he straightened up and turned back to the computer, a subtle sign for Alfie that it was time to leave. “Good luck.”

“Thank you. I will, I promise,” Alfie assured him while grabbing hold of the cart once more. “You have a good weekend now, Mr. Nov— Castiel.” 

He began maneuvering the trolley around, pushing it towards the door, and Castiel straightened up behind his desk, watching from the corner of his eye how the cart moved further and further away. With his right hand he carefully slid the envelope on his knee down, dropping it soundlessly onto the floor. Then he gave it a quick push with his foot, and the thick envelope slid over the polished surface, up to the now empty space where the cart had been standing only a few seconds ago.

“Hold on, I think you dropped something.”

Alfie stopped and threw a look over his shoulder, spotting the envelope, and Castiel let out a slow, relieved breath when he saw the grateful relief that flickered across the young man’s face.

“Oh, thank you, I didn’t notice.” He walked over and picked the envelope up, turning it around to read the name and address scribbled on the front in Gabriel’s most sloppy handwriting. Gabe had even called in a favor at the postal office to get the thing properly stamped, to make it look as if it had been sent in as mail from an external source. Clever work, if Castiel had to be honest… Not that he would ever admit that to his brother.

“To Mr. J. Gardner,” Alfie read out loud and then he tapped at the envelope with the knuckles of his other hand. “Good thing you spotted this,” he said. “I’ve heard he’s is a bit picky about his mail.”

“Don’t mention it.” Castiel waved him off. “It looks sort of important,” he pointed out, hiding his mouth behind a slow rub of his hand.

Alfie turned the envelope around, frowning when he didn’t find anything written where the sender’s address should be.

“It doesn’t say who it’s from.”

“Oh. Then you should probably deliver it as soon as possible,” Castiel suggested. “Like you said, Joshua takes his mail very seriously.”

“I will, don’t worry.” Alfie smiled and waved the envelope at him. “Again, have a nice weekend.”

“You too, Alfie.”

And with that, Alfie left the room. Once the door had closed fully behind him, Castiel slumped back into his chair with a sigh; the weight of the day’s first challenge slowly clearing from his chest, only to be replaced by another, more anticipating stir the moment it was gone.

Ten minutes later, he announced to Becky that he wasn’t feeling well and was going home early. Becky wished him a good weekend; a phrase that by now had begun to sound almost sarcastic the more he heard it, considering the activity he was going home to. 

Half an hour later, he parked his car outside his apartment, and now, almost two hours after that, he  _ still _ hadn’t figured out what to wear for his date, which continued to draw nearer with every ominous tick of the clock, slowly driving him crazy.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

By half past seven, Cas had changed his outfit five times, sweated through three shirts, and was now desperately trying to decide if wearing a tie would be too much, or if he should just go without one.

At the moment, he was dressed in a pair of black, slightly stonewashed jeans, a burgundy shirt, and a black vest. In his left hand he held one dark grey, silk tie, and in the other he dangled a black one with three diagonal stripes in the same red color as the shirt. He was standing in the hallway, staring the two pieces down in the mirror; an indecisiveness almost strong enough to touch making his stomach slowly turn the longer he stared. 

Perhaps he should just go for the casual, layered look? Like a t-shirt and an open dress shirt on top of that? That was what Dean wore most of the time, from what he had been able to tell, at least. Surely Dean would pick someplace to go where he would feel comfortable, where he would be in his element and could wear his usual clothes? 

Then there was also the possibility that Dean only dressed like that when he was actually  _ being  _ casual. Maybe he dressed differently on dates? What if Cas decided to wear a t-shirt and jeans, and then Dean showed up in a suit or something? Not only would Castiel be completely underdressed, but Dean would also be able to tell that Cas had tried to mimic his clothing, which would be beyond embarrassing. 

No, he should stick with what he had picked out, and if Dean thought it was too much he could always remove the vest later. Or change. Or maybe he should remove the vest now and take it on later, pretending that he wasn’t done when Dean arrived? But then he might appear too nonchalant regarding the time if he hadn’t put his tie on yet either. He still wanted to look as if he actually cared about this date, after all. Perhaps he should just put it on now? But then he might look too dressed up if Dean showed up in casual clothes. And even if he ended up wearing a tie, which one should he pick?

The urge to pull at his own hair was overwhelming, but he managed to control himself. If he did that he would have to redo his hairstyle again, and he had done that two times already. He didn’t have the mental energy left to manage a third.

God, he was so nervous. 

This would be the night, he knew that. The night he’d tell Dean the truth. 

He had put it off for far too long already, with the whole mess regarding Edenstar getting in the way. Tonight they’d be alone, without distractions. Cas would tell Dean the truth, they’d talk it out, everything would turn out well, and they’d finally be together, like they should have been from the start.

Unless… Dean got angry with him. For not telling him the truth sooner, or maybe for telling him at all. He might also not get angry. Or even annoyed. He might, in fact, not even care. Cas had not decided which option he dreaded the most; a Dean who refused to speak with him because he was mad, or a Dean who refused to speak with him because he couldn’t care less. Because he wasn’t interested in Cas that way… 

There was only one way to find out, of course, Castiel knew that, but to actually bring himself to do what needed to be done… 

He’d have to test out the feel of the terrain first; find out which mood Dean was in before he raised the subject. A window of opportunity was bound to present itself, at some point during the night, he was sure of it. Only question was, would he be able to muster up the courage needed to take it?

He was startled out of his brooding thoughts when the doorbell suddenly rang, making both ties slip, unguarded, out of his hands. He just barely managed to catch the grey one before it reached the floor and he threw a horrified look at his wrist, convinced that he had lost track of time during his fashion dilemma. The clock showed 19.40. 

No, no, no, it was too early! He still had twenty minutes left, damnit! 

There was another sharp buzz and Castiel’s heart was now going 180 miles per hour inside his chest. He knew he should open the door, but his legs seemed frozen in place, his fingers clutched around the now single tie so hard they rendered it unwearable. Dean was right there, on the other side of his door, and oh, dear Lord, why did he ever agree to do this?

Then suddenly he was there, his fingers closing around the cool metal of the door handle, pulling it open just as the third ring cut through the air. 

Dean looked up, startled at Castiel’s sudden appearance in the doorway. Straightening up sharply, a wide eyed expression settled over his face as he looked Cas up and down. 

It was with a breathless  _ Thank God _ to the heavens that Cas noted that Dean was wearing a dress shirt too; light grey and discreetly pinstriped. It was partially covered by his leather jacket, of course, but still, it was a shirt, and it was buttoned, with a simple, black tie hanging down the middle. The knot was a bit crooked and there was no pin to hold it in place to keep it from flapping around, but it didn’t look bad. It looked a bit unversed, and it was evident that Dean was not used to wearing it, but it didn’t look  _ bad.  _  Just the thought that the other had bothered with putting on a tie for his sake made Castiel feel all kinds of funny inside. 

For the longest time they just stood there, looking at each other, until Cas finally managed to get his brain working enough to at least speak.

“You’re early,” he mumbled and Dean swallowed, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Yeah…” he admitted with a crooked smile. “I’ve been driving around the block for almost thirty minutes… Figured I might as well come up.”

“Oh.” Cas blinked and Dean scratched at the back of his neck, looking mighty embarrassed. As if he just realized that inviting yourself up to your date’s apartment twenty minutes before the set time perhaps wasn’t considered the most polite thing to do.

“But if you want, I can just wait out here if you’re not done?” he offered quickly, abruptly making Cas snap back to reality.

“No, no, you don’t have to do that… Uh, please, come in.” He moved out of the way, gesturing for Dean to come inside. Dean obeyed with a low ‘thanks’ and Castiel tried not to linger on the way their shoulders brushed against each other when Dean walked past him and into his apartment. The tingle caused by the brief touch spread across his skin, seemingly intensifying when he realized that yes, Dean was now officially  _ inside _ his apartment. He had barely finished the thought when he heard Dean give an impressed whistle from somewhere behind his back.

“Wow, this is some place you’ve got here.”

Castiel turned around to find Dean standing in the space between the hall and the living room, looking out over the impressive space; the increased height of the ceiling making the living room widen like a cave before him. 

The long side of the room which was facing them was occupied by a single glass window that spanned the entire wall, giving the illusion of the apartment opening up right into the sky outside. Being on the thirteenth floor, that pretty much equaled a spectacular view obscured by nothing but clouds and the occasional rooftops of the other surrounding buildings.

Dean currently had his eyes fixed on the recessed spotlights that covered the ceiling, nodding slowly with his lips thoughtfully pursed, as if giving the room his silent approval.

“You live here all by your lonely self?” he asked, sending a teasing look over his shoulder.

“Yes.” Cas quickly bent down and retrieved the black tie he had dropped from the floor, tossing the other, crumpled one to the side to land on the drawers by the mirror. “I’m not a fan of confined spaces,” he filled in and Dean chuckled.

“Well, you sure don’t have to worry about that here.” Dean turned around, looking Castiel up and down once more. “Must be pretty neat not having to worry about anyone being able to peek inside.”

Cas nodded, smiling softly.

“It’s a luxury I allow myself,” he answered simply, watching Dean’s eyes slide over to the large U-shaped sofa, and from there to the large, flat screen TV sitting opposite to it.

“Not the only one apparently,” Dean commented. When Castiel only gave him a shrug in return, indicating that, yeah, he liked television, the other just smiled and turned back around, hands still in his pockets.

“So… you ready to go?” Dean asked cheerfully. Cas looked down at himself, gesturing to his clothes with the tie. 

“I’m not sure,” he confessed with a sigh. “I’ve been taking off and putting on this stupid thing so many times now, my arms are getting sore.” 

He held the tie out like some sort of awkward apology and Dean laughed out loud, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He walked up, casually plucking the tie from Castiel’s outstretched hand, the fabric slithering over his palm like a silken snake. Then he held it up, one end pressed lightly against Castiel’s collar, studying the results with a light purse of his lips for a few seconds before nodding, pleased.  

“Yeah, you should definitely wear this,” he decided and before Castiel had time to react, Dean had already tossed the tie around his neck and begun to tie it.

“I can do that myself, you know,” Cas said quietly, eyes sliding down to silently regard the askew knot of Dean’s own tie, but Dean only snorted.

“You said it yourself that you’ve done it enough times already.” Cas felt Dean’s knuckles bump a little against his chin as the other dragged the broad end of tie through the loop, and he heard Dean grunt out a quick apology when Castiel stiffened at the touch. 

It didn’t hurt, of course, but the sensation of having Dean’s fingers skirting along the sensitive skin of his neck and throat did things to Castiel’s body that surely must be too soon to indulge in this early in the evening. He gave a quiet ‘hmm’ noise in confirmation that meant apology accepted as he allowed Dean to pull the knot up and settle it comfortably beneath the collar of his shirt.

“There you go.” 

Castiel turned to look at the mirror, raising a quizzical brow at the way the broad side of the tie swung around to settle backwards against his shirt, putting the single coloured, red silk side on display rather than the black and striped one.

“Oh.” Dean reached out, spun the tie around and quickly tucked it inside Castiel’s vest before it could flip itself over again. Then he patted Castiel once on the chest before allowing Cas to turn to look at the mirror once more. 

Black with three red stripes. It looked so much better than the grey one. Why had he picked out the grey one again?

“You good?” Dean asked, smiling, and Cas nodded, reaching up to brush his fingertips over the slightly crooked knot.  

“Yes…” he said quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching in a barely withheld smile. “I’m good.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Dean’s car was parked on the street by the visitor’s parking lot, and Cas had to say that it looked all kinds of impressive where it stood, black and sleek, with shiny rims and chromed details. 

Dean must have washed it today, he thought, feeling that same fuzzy warmth spread through his chest at the idea of Dean making yet another effort to impress him. He knew how much that car meant to Dean, and he would like to imagine that Dean was as eager for Cas to like his car as much as he wanted him to like, for example, Sam.

“I see you finished working on your car,” he said, letting his hand run softly over the polished metal. Real metal, mind you, not that plastic crap that covered Castiel’s own vehicle.

“That’s right,” Dean recalled, grinning. “Last time you saw her, she was back at the garage.”

“She was,” Cas agreed, studying the shine of the roof, a smile of his own gracing his lips. “She’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, my Baby…” Dean dragged an affectionate hand across the rear view mirror. “She used to belong to my dad.”

Castiel was stumbling close to say ‘I know’, but managed to stop himself at the last second. Shit, he had to tread carefully here. One slip up and he would get a world of impossible things to explain before he was even ready to explain them. 

God, getting through this date unscated might actually become a lot harder than he had realized. Not that he didn’t want to tell Dean who he really was, because he  _ did _ , but he  _ didn’t _ want him to find out through an unmonitored slip of his tongue… He’d wait it out, just for a little longer. There would be a good time to let Dean know, soon enough. Right now, however, he just wanted to revel in the presence of Dean’s smile a little while longer.

“You’ve taken good care of her, it seems,” he commented instead, and Dean nodded, proud.

“I’m doing my best. Not a speck of rust on her so far.”

“Does she run as good as she looks?” Castiel asked, adding a hint of a challenge to his voice that he knew Dean wouldn’t be able to refuse. Sure enough, Dean’s eyes practically gleamed when he straightened up to look at him across the top of the car.

“How about you get your pretty little butt inside and I’ll show you?”

/\/\/\/\/\/\

“You’re a good driver,” Cas commented later, when they had been seated by a table at the diner Dean had driven them to. 

Dean chuckled behind his menu, eyes skimming through the listed dishes even though he practically knew them by heart already. Rufus’ place was the best semi classy diner in town that he knew of. It had a cool bar that kept a nice price range, robust, wooden interior, and an atmosphere that gave the place more of a restaurant-slash-bar-vibe rather than a pit stop-diner one. Not to mention that the food here was simply to die for. 

Rufus himself could use a bit more finesse though. Dean had not seen him around yet, most likely meaning that he had taken the Friday off, which was probably for the best. Rufus was pretty rough around the edges, bordering to rude, but he ran a fine establishment here. As far as Dean was concerned, this place was the only joint in town that could give The Roadhouse a fair run for its money. 

He had already made a plan for what to order them tonight, but he allowed Cas some alone time with the menu nonetheless, just to see if the other would go for something completely different than what Dean suspected—or rather,  _ hoped— _ he would. 

He was basically convinced already. Gabriel’s comment in the elevator had been the final piece of the puzzle that he needed, the final clue… Fuck, he wanted to believe it so badly. His entire body ached for it, but… he also wanted to make sure. Like, one hundred percent sure, just to be safe. No matter how certain his soul felt, he still had no desire to make a complete fool out of himself, should he be wrong. 

Dean wished that he could say that he already knew who it was he was dealing with here, but there was this little, insistent, pecking voice in the back of his mind that kept telling him that he was  _ wrong _ . If he jumped to conclusions without doing proper research first, then he might unintentionally ruin this potentially good thing he had going with Cas, and he didn’t want to risk that.

He needed some final piece of evidence, just one. Something solid that couldn’t be denied, and then he’d confront Cas about the whole thing. Fuck, he still had so many questions! Like, if Cas really was Blue, then how come he hadn’t said anything? Didn’t he want Dean to know who he really was? Wasn’t Cas interested in him? But if that was the case, then why agree to go on a date with him in the first place? Did Cas plan to let him down easy, is that what this was all about? That being, if Cas  _ was  _ Blue, of course… 

Dean swallowed, looking down at his fingers where they clutched around the menu in his hands.

God, he was so nervous… 

His original plan had been to confront Cas about it before the date even started. That’s why he had driven around the block of the guy’s building for so long, building up courage, thinking about what to say. Then he had finally brought himself to ring the doorbell, Castiel had opened the door, and Dean had… choked.

He literally choked, right there on the guy’s doorstep, and then things had just… turned out like this. 

So now they were having dinner, apparently. Dean knew that what he was doing now was basically just stalling for time, waiting around for some sort of sign from above to blow his doubts out of the water, but fuck, he was already wound so tight he felt as if he was about to snap in two at any second. 

How the hell was he even supposed to break it to Cas that he knew? If he was right, that was.

Fuck, what if he was wrong about the whole thing? 

Or worse; what is he was right? What if he was right, only to discover that Cas couldn’t care less?

What if Cas didn’t actually want him?

He just wished that Cas, by some miracle, would take the first step. That he’d break the silence with a confession of sorts, now, when they were finally alone… 

Dean wasn’t going to deny the fact that he had certain expectations of this date. Or… maybe not as much expectations as… hopeful fantasies. He was probably being stupid, winding himself up, but he couldn’t help himself.

He’d wait, see what happened, and surely there would be an opportunity to bring the subject up during the evening. They’d talk, get to know each other better. That would work, surely, and Castiel’s innocent comment on Dean’s driving skills had just provided them with the casual icebreaker Dean had been looking for.

“I’ve been around cars and engines my entire life,” he said, trying to sound as if the compliment hadn’t been that big of a deal. “Driving comes easy to me. It’s sort of a two-for-one-deal when you’re a mechanic,” he added with a wink.

“So you’re actually a mechanic?” Castiel asked, sounding somewhat surprised. “I thought cars were just a hobby of yours.” 

“They are,” Dean agreed, “but Edenstar didn’t let me anywhere near their cars. I only handled the machine repairs out in the workshop. You know, like pallet trucks and lifters for the warehouse?”

“Someone has to do those as well,” Castiel agreed graciously and Dean snickered.

“Yeah, tell me about it. You know, we had this one girl, Charlie, who worked at the warehouse over the summer a while back.” Dean waved his hand, grimacing. “Horrible, horrible driver. I have no idea how she managed it, but every time she drove the forklift, she always managed to crash into the pillar by the northwest loading dock. No exceptions. I swear, by the end she didn’t even get upset or embarrassed about it anymore. She even memorized the phone number to the workshop so that she could call in the repairs herself, keeping the foreman out of the loop, so he wouldn’t find out.”

“Sneaky,” Castiel smirked. “I take it she didn’t leave any permanent evidence on the interior then?”

Dean huffed.

“Not unless artistic freedom counts as damage,” he snorted. “They used to make her sign the pillar every time she hit it. I mean, everyone’s done it once or twice,” he explained. “But after Charlie, the entire thing looks like something yanked out of a modern art exhibition.”

“Sounds very impressive.” 

“Yeah,” Dean laughed. “I swear, after the first ten times, she just started going out of her way to make her signatures as flamboyant as possible, just to shut the guys up.” He smiled fondly. “I liked her,” he confessed. “Girl had spirit. ” 

“Sounds like it,” Castiel chuckled, before sighing deeply. “Still, mechanic or not, you’re handling your car far better than anyone I’ve ever met,” he remarked, returning to their original subject. “My own driving skills aren’t that refined, I’m afraid…” 

“Everybody has their strengths,” Dean assured him and then he added, as an afterthought: “I’m sure you’re good at other things?” 

Castiel just smiled and shook his head.

“I’m afraid nothing comes to mind,” he declined politely, but Dean didn’t back down.

“Aw, c’mon. Don’t you have any hobbies?” he prodded, setting the menu down. “Something you like to do in your spare time, like… watch movies or something?”

It was a wild chance, he knew that. Especially since music and movies were basically the how-to-date topic number 1 and 2 of all time, but if he got Cas talking about movies, he might be able to steer the conversation onto more specific topics later on. Like the movies he had convinced Blue to watch during their time together. From there it should be easy to compare Castiel’s thoughts and opinions on the different titles with Blue’s, so yeah. Movies. Dean had seen the TV in Cas’s apartment; of course the guy liked movies.

“I’m not sure…” Castiel hesitated. “When I was young I used to do a bit of carpentry,” he admitted bashfully. Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the same time as his heart sank in his chest. Blue had not mentioned anything about carpentry.

“Carpentry?” he asked incredulously.

“I like to use my hands,” Cas shrugged, eyes diving down to his menu, only to rise back up just as quickly when he picked up on the quiet chuckle Dean let out under his breath.

“I’m sorry?” he asked. 

“I said, ‘I bet’,” Dean repeated, perhaps a bit louder, and definitely far more blunt than he had intended to. Maybe it was his nerves acting up that had caused him to blurt out such a blatant innuendo in the first place, but he wasn’t given any time to panic over his malfunctioning brain-to-mouth filter. Castiel’s ears immediately turned a tomato-shade of red, his grip around the menu tightening, and Dean let out an apologetic cringe, waving his around hand in apology.

“Sorry, I didn’t—  What I meant was that you kinda look like the handy type of guy.” He licked his lips, nodding towards Castiel’s hands. “I sort of had a feeling those were made for more than shuffling papers.”

Castiel relaxed back into his seat, a faint blush still playing around the hem of his collar as he raised his hand and studied the palm of it thoughtfully.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “It’s been a long time since I handled any tools. I’m not sure if I can remember how it’s done…”

“The bigger reason to get back in there,” Dean suggested enthusiastically. “If you like doing it, then you shouldn’t give it up. I bet it’s just like riding a bike,” he added encouragingly. Castiel sent him a long, evaluating look, as if to figure out if Dean was being sincere or not. Then he shrugged, smiling.

“Maybe,” he said vaguely. “If I find my inspiration again, who knows?”

“That’s the spirit,” Dean commended, earning him an amused twitch of lips in return. For a split second, they both shared a look across the table that simply made Dean’s brain melt.

_ I could tell him _ , Dean thought. Right now would be a great opportunity, really.

_ Tell him. Tell him right now, do it. _

“Can I ask you something?” 

Castiel looked up at him, the corner of his mouth curling up even higher.

“Technically, I think you just did.”

“Yeah… uh…” Dean swallowed, clearing his throat. “I was just thinking… I mean… if you… uhm…” He looked down at his own hands, swallowing again.

_ Ask him. Tell him. Tell. Him. _

“Do you eat meat?” He blubbered out, snatching the menu out of Castiel’s loose grip, cursing inwardly at his own cowardice. Damnit.

“I do,” Castiel answered warily. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” Dean rambled. “I usually don’t recommend ordering off the menu, but this place has something special I really think you should try.” 

He waved at the waitress behind the counter, who quickly joined them at the table. He gestured to a point on the menu while whispering something to her, finishing by holding a silent finger in front of his lips as a sign for her not to saying anything. From the corner of his eye, Dean saw Castiel’s eyes widen nervously when the waitress nodded and giggled, scribbling something down on her pad, before disappearing with a secretive little wink in the other man’s direction.

“What did you tell her?” Cas asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously as Dean leaned back into his chair, a satisfied grin slowly stretching across his face.

“You’ll see,” he smiled, not caring that his answer seemingly did nothing but make Castiel look even more nervous. At least that evened out the odds, he thought bitterly… 

His choice of sustenance became evidently clear after another fifteen minutes, when the waitress returned with two of the biggest, tallest, most deliciously looking cheeseburgers ever to be plated in a restaurant. Dean’s grin could have blacked out a sun when she put the two plates down in front of Castiel’s astounded face, only to disappear and return with two large cokes and two beers shortly after.

Cas stared at the half feet tall burger in front of him, seemingly stunned to silence, then up at Dean, and then back down at the plate.

“I’m supposed to eat this all by myself?” he gaped in disbelief.

“Sam did it once,” Dean grinned.

“Sam’s a giant,” Cas pointed out, slowly spinning his plate while looking as if he was trying to figure out how to fit his hands around the burger residing on top of it.

“You just wait until you taste it,” Dean said with promise, nudging Castiel’s knife and fork closer to him. ”But you should probably use these at first,” he suggested. “Wouldn’t wanna ruin that sexy looking shirt of yours, would we?”

“Watch your mouth, Mr. Winchester,” Cas responded calmly, glancing up at him through his eyelashes. “People might think that you’re coming on to me.”

“Would you mind if I did?” Dean retorted boldly, feeling the butterflies in his stomach swarm to life when Castiel’s eyes locked onto his.

“Not at all,” Castiel answered, lowering his voice somewhat. “In fact, I… think I might prefer it.”

“Really?” Dean swallowed thickly. “That’s… good to know. I guess.”

At that, Castiel let out a light chuckle, and Dean quickly quenched the flutter in his chest by abruptly turning his attention to his own cheeseburger, just to focus on something other than what the sound of Castiel’s voice did to him. 

Knowing from experience, he was already aware of that no matter how good the burger tasted, he still wouldn’t be able to eat the whole thing. He had tried, and failed, on previous occasions, but damn him, if he wasn’t going to try again.

_ Focus,  _ he told himself, picking up his fork from the table.  _ You can do this. _

Weather he was referring to his capability of eating the burger, or talking to Castiel, was something he preferred not to clarify at the moment.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Half an hour and three quarters of a burger later, Castiel gave up, letting his fork and knife drop down onto his plate with a faint clank as he leaned back in his seat with a groan.

“Sweet Jesus!” he managed, and on the other side of the table Dean laughed, finishing his last gulp of soda. The other man had abandoned hope on his own burger ten minutes earlier, which had probably been a wise decision, considering how Castiel’s own stomach felt as if it was currently about to burst.

“Told you,” Dean grinned back at him, obviously pleased with himself.

“I know,” Cas groaned, “I just—” He groaned again. “Sweet Jesus…!”

“You’re lucky I told them to skip dessert,” Dean laughed. Castiel’s eyes widened.

“There was supposed to be dessert?” he choked, almost fearful. Dean nodded slowly.

“Yup, one tall milkshake, layered in chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla flavor. Complete with a cute little cherry on top.” He winked and Castiel made a sound in the back of his throat as if he was about to die. 

“What kind of inhuman being could possibly eat all of that?” he winced and in response, Dean immediately began counting on his fingers.

“Well, first there’s my brother, then there’s probably  _ your  _ brother...” he started, but then he unceremoniously got hit in the face by the crumpled up napkin Cas tossed at him, making his serious face crumble into a laugh.

“ _ Your _ brother is the biggest human being I’ve seen in my entire life,” Cas muttered. “The fact that he’s dating my Santa’s Little Helper-sized sibling is so disproportionate it’s almost artistic.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean snorted. “It’s not exactly the partner I had imagined for the old Samsquatch, but hey, at least Gabe’s not freaked out by his ridiculous height.”

“Samsquatch?” Cas echoed, trying to hold back the smile threatening to split his face in half. Dean grinned.

“Yeah, it’s a nickname I gave him when we grew up. He started outgrowing me when he hit his twenties and after that, it’s like his body never really called off the race.”

“It’s a good name,” Cas nodded, sipping on his beer; his soda since long gone.

“Yeah, it is.” Castiel watched as Dean plucked a little with his tableware, and then looked up with a curious frown on his face, as if he had suddenly remembered something. “Speaking of names; who’s Richard Speight?” he asked. 

Cas blinked, feeling his heart stop dead in his chest for a moment, completely forgetting why Dean would know anything about that name. Then he recalled Gabriel’s cover identity for the meeting back at Edenstar and relaxed once more.

“He’s an old friend of Gabe’s,” he said. “They used to work at the theater together.”

“Gabriel’s into theater?” Dean asked in disbelief and Cas snorted, shaking his head.

“He worked there as a janitor a few years ago,” he explained. “Richard was one of the actors; he and Gabriel got along pretty well. Gabe and I used to help him run lines after hours sometimes. He was nice.”

“So he’s an actual person?” Dean wondered and Cas nodded.

“Oh, he’s real. Last thing I heard he was in Canada doing some sort of long runner series for a TV show.  _ Super _ -something.” He turned his glass a quarter of a turn to the left. “Apparently he had a pretty big role in it.”

“So that’s why you guys are so good at acting?” Dean asked, sounding as if he had just unravelled a perplexing mystery, but Castiel just chuckled heartily.

“ _ Gabriel’s _ good at acting,” he clarified. “I couldn’t even fake a headache.”

“You sure?” Dean asked, his eyes settling firmly on Castiel’s face. “Yesterday you seemed like quite the actor to me.” 

“Then perhaps I should move to L.A?” Castiel retorted cheekily. “Abandon my wood carvings and try my fortune in Hollywood instead?”

Dean pretended to think the suggestion over, but then he shook his head.

“Nah, I think I like the thought of you handling wood better,” he decided with a leer, and Castiel felt his cheeks heat up, the blush forming bright red circles over the ridge of his cheekbones. 

Another innuendo, almost more upfront than the last one had been. Not that Castiel minded them; it wasn’t as if he hadn’t given Dean a flirtation of his own not too long ago—God, he still couldn’t believe that he had done that—he just wished that Dean would give him some sort of  _ warning  _ first.

He tried to cover up his flustered state by glaring, but Dean just threw his hands out to the sides, not looking the slightest bit sorry.

“C’mon, you practically handed me that one,” he defended himself sweetly. Castiel rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“I’m going to hear about that stupid hobby for the rest of my life, aren’t I?” he sighed tiredly.

“Would I do that to you?” Dean asked in feigned innocence.

“Yes,” Cas deadpanned, not even stopping to think twice about it, and Dean dropped the innocent act with a shrug.

“Alright, so maybe I would,” he admitted. “Still,“ he added, sending Cas a look from underneath his eyelashes. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be interested in seeing it.”

“Your ability to deliver sexual innuendos is remarkable,” Castiel grumbled, trying to sound annoyed. Dean shrugged again, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“What can I say,” he drawled. “You do things to me.”

“Ditto…” Cas mumbled, hearing Dean drag sharply for breath on the other side of the table.

Silence lowered itself over them for a few seconds, the only sounds heard being the rattle of tableware and murmuring voices coming from the tables around them. 

Castiel looked at Dean’s right hand as it toyed with the fork on the tabletop.

_ This is the moment, _ he thought to himself. _ Go on, just tell him. _

“Dean…?” Castiel asked, and Dean flinched, looking up at him.

“Yeah?” 

Castiel’s mouth went dry, and his fingers curled around his glass, gripping it tightly, yet unable to pick it up.

“There’s something I— Something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“There is?” Dean asked, eyes widening, and Castiel’s stomach drew together tight, almost making him feel nauseous.

“Yes, I…” Castiel licked his lips.

_ Say it.  _ Say  _ it! _

“I… uhm… That time at Singer’s Salvage, I… When we met, I—”

“Yes?” Dean prompted, almost in a whisper.

“I noticed—”, Cas continued, struggling with the words. “—I mean, not that I came just to— I mean, I didn’t really think I’d find—”

He was rambling. Goddamnit. Clearing his throat, he dared a quick look up at Dean. Dean, who was leaning forwards over the table, looking as if he was practically on the edge of his seat, fingers now curled around the fork still in his hand. His eyes were wide, intently fixed on Castiel’s face, his lips slightly parted, and oh, God, Castiel’s heart was beating so fast. 

“I…” His throat felt raw, his voice sounding wrong inside his own ears.

_ Tell him. Tell him. Tell him the  _ truth. 

“I found a scratch on my car,” Cas breathed. On the other side of the table, Dean blinked, and then he slumped down, his face dropping.

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed, as if he had expected Cas to say something else entirely. 

“I’m not saying you did it,” Castiel hurried. “I just… I saw it when I got back home and— It’s not even that big, it barely shows, really.”

“No,” Dean said, his eyes suddenly clear and awake again. “No, man, it’s cool. If I dented your ride, I’ll fix it, no problem.”

“No, that’s not why I—” Castiel groaned, closing his eyes for a moment. “Listen, I shouldn’t have brought it up. It doesn’t matter.”

“Alright,” Dean nodded. “If you say so. But if you change your mind, just let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” Castiel agreed, swallowing thickly.

He looked away, and once again, there was only silence between them. People talking, music playing in the background. Regular, ordinary, domestic sounds, that to Castiel only seemed to mock him in his current situation.

Fuck, he had been so close! Why did he have to be such a goddamn coward! He barely resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands and groan loudly, settling with just frustratingly fist his hands in his lap. 

Suddenly Dean cleared his throat, pointing a thumb towards the bar over his shoulder.

“You want another beer?” he offered. Cas glanced at the untouched drink still sitting next to the other man’s elbow.

“Only if you have one too,” he countered, nodding towards the glass pointedly. Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“I’m driving, remember?” he reminded politely.

“I’ll call us a cab,” Cas retorted and Dean winced.

“You shouldn’t have to do that,” he objected. “Night fare’s expensive, man.”

“I’m not going to sit here drinking by myself,” Castiel stated firmly.

“Why not?” Dean objected. “I don’t mind.” 

“I do.”

A silent wrestling match between wills broke out over the table which lasted for a good ten seconds before Dean’s shoulders slumped. He sunk, defeated, back into his seat with a snorted laugh.

“Alright, hotshot, you win,” he chuckled. “Beer and a cab it is.”

“Good.” Cas stood up from his seat, digging his wallet out from his back pocket. “Any requests?” he asked, waving a few bills in the direction of the bar and Dean’s lips pursed for a second before he shrugged.

“I trust your good judgment,” he answered with a wink and an appreciative look up and down the front of Castiel’s body. “I have a feeling you know  _ exactly _ what I want.”

Castiel snorted, trying to make it sound mocking, but it came out more like a shocked wheeze. Dean’s grin grew even more lewd, enjoying his flustered state, and Castiel silently cursed the blush blooming on his cheeks.

Somehow, he managed to regain control of his facial expressions once more, and he gestured towards the bar with his hand.

“I’ll just… go ask the… uhm…” He let the end of the sentence trail off, suspecting that Dean hadn’t been able to hear a word of his mumbling anyway. He quickly strode away, the bills curled tightly within the palm of his hand, and a color that Dean seemed to have developed a particular liking for this evening tinting his cheeks.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Dean watched Cas go, looking on with appreciation as the other man leaned over the counter to talk to the girl who had served them earlier. 

Dean’s eyes smoothed over the curve of dark jeans—which looked exactly as hot on the Castiel’s body as he had imagined they would—up to where the burgundy shirt had begun to ride up in the lower back, held in place only by the snug fit of the dark vest. From there, he followed the slender line of strong shoulders, toyed with the dark curls of hair at the nape of the other’s neck, and when Cas turned his head to the side he could clearly see his eyes reflect the lights from the smoked light bulbs hanging over the bar. Those blue, blue eyes…

He quickly went through the events of the past hour in his mind and cursed silently when he realized that so far, he hadn’t been given anything that helped him with his predicament. Except for the fact that he had found out that Cas was a genuinely funny, sexy guy, with the same type of humor as himself. It honestly didn’t do shit to help him decide whether he should go all in on this hunch of his or not. 

What if he revealed the truth and turned out to be wrong? What if he did nothing and turned out the be right? 

He turned his eyes back to Cas, who was now handing over the money to the waitress. Unconsciously, Dean’s gaze slid back down the length of that lithe, muscular body, making him sigh. He had absolutely no idea how he would react if he was, indeed, wrong. That Cas was just… well,  _ Cas _ , and that Blue was forever and irrevocably lost. 

Would he be able to let that go and start this new thing with Castiel as if he had never wished the guy to be someone else? Would he be able to do that and make it last? Or had Blue ruined him for other men for the rest of his life? Would this be his curse; to never be able to form relationships with anyone, because there would always be something  _ missing _ ? To spend his days listening in on stranger’s conversations, looking for a voice he knew wouldn’t be there…?

Only… with Cas, the voice would literally be the same, wouldn’t it?

There could not, under any circumstances, be two people in the same company, let alone the same  _ city _ , with that voice. There was just no way!

At first he hadn’t thought much about it, because honestly, with the way Castiel’s voice had shifted key when they first met at Singer’s Salvage, Dean simply thought the guy had a very nasty cold on his hands. But then, back in Sam’s kitchen… 

Holy shit, if there ever was a time for an inappropriate boner; that situation right there would have been it. 

Castiel had been standing there by the sink, responding to Dean’s quiet accusations of betrayal with such… confidence. Authority. That hint of steel in his voice making Dean’s mouth snap shut with just a sentence’s worth. To think of the power Dean had heard in that voice, in that precise moment… 

It reminded him so much about the way Blue had spoken to him, on that first night, before they turned into… whatever they had turned into. Passive-aggressive. Dangerous. And hot as fuck.

Damnit, it couldn’t be anyone else, it just  _ couldn’t _ . Upon following Cas into the kitchen, he had never in his wildest dreams thought that he would be able to coax such a voice out of him. He had been curious, yes. There had been a moment out there in Sam’s living room—just a brief second—where Dean had felt an entire conversation pass between the two of them. As if they had been speaking with each other without even opening their mouths, and… it should have scared him, maybe, but it hadn’t. Instead, it had left him feeling both intrigued, and for some odd reason, inexplicably turned on. How was that even possible?

Asking Cas out, or rather, Cas asking  _ him  _ out, had seemed like a hint, like a goddamn sign from  _ heaven, _ and then Gabriel had said that thing in the elevator, and maybe, just  _ maybe…? _

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, sending the beer by his side a hopeful glance before picking it up and swallowing down a few mouthfuls. It was lukewarm, having lost its chill. For a moment he regretted not having drunk it earlier, but hopefully, he’d be getting a new one any moment now.

As if on cue, when he looked up, he spotted Cas as the other came walking back, skillfully carrying two tall glasses of beer along with what appeared to be a bowl of nuts on a little tray. All thoughts of stale beer was firmly set aside as Dean watched the way him make his way effortlessly between the tables, balancing the tray on one hand only.

“Wow, look at you, being all snazzy with the drinks,” he commented when Cas sat the tray down, placing the drinks out in front of their respective seats, before sinking down back down into his own chair. 

“Where did you learn to juggle glasses like that?” Dean probed and Castiel shrugged.

“I had a job as a busboy at a bar downtown when I was young,” he admitted nonchalantly. “Some nights when they were really crowded, they needed help carrying out drinks, so I was offered to step in. Two glasses like this is nothing to be impressed about.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips, and when Cas looked up, a frown slowly etched itself across his brow when he saw the way Dean was looking at him.

“What?” he asked, a worried twinge to his voice. Dean responded by leaning in even closer, lips pursing as if he was trying to figure out the answer to a very tricky riddle.

“I’m just trying to picture you in a bar, waiting on a bunch of drunken sport jocks,” he said slowly. “It’s difficult.”

“I wasn’t exactly wearing a suit at the time,” Castiel objected. “And sport jocks weren’t the customary clientele, I can assure you…”

“Then what kind of a bar was it?” Dean asked, raising his beer to his lips. Cas shrugged, mimicking the movement with his own glass.

“It was called The Hellhound, and as for what genre, I believe ‘slum’ would be the most appropriate categorization I can offer.” He glanced up over the ridge of his glass and halted, noticing the way Dean was staring back at him in unabashed disbelief, the beer still hanging untouched in front of his lips.

“You’re kidding me,” he mumbled and Cas scowled.

“I’m sorry?”

“ _ You _ worked at the Hellhound?”

“You’ve heard of it?” Castiel asked and Dean lowered his beer to the table.

“I’ve been there,” he admitted. “Not my proudest moments. The booze is cheap and you never have to feel guilty if you accidentally break the furniture with someone’s nose.” He laughed, attempting to turn the sentence into a joke, but Cas didn’t smile back. He just regarded him silently, his head tilted slightly to the left as his eyes seemed to drill into Dean’s own.

“Sounds like you… broke furniture often?” he said carefully, and even though Dean could appreciate the diplomatic tone, the question beneath it was evidently clear.

“Like I said, not my proudest moments…” Dean muttered. “For the record, I’ve only been there two times. First one was a couple of years ago. Me and Sam had a bit of a falling out… Stupid, really, but it seemed important at the time, and I was angry. Got into a nasty fight with some moron called Gordon and ended up with two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder.”

He paused and looked up, expecting to see a look of disapproval on Castiel’s face, but the other just continued to hold his head tilted to the side and his eyes fixed on Dean’s, as if he was listening intently to every word that came out of his mouth.

“The owner, some guy people called Azazel, offered me a job as a bouncer when I tried to leave, but I said no,” he continued slowly. “I didn’t like the place and I got the fight I was looking for, but he wouldn’t back off so I punched him in the face. Broke his nose. Made my shoulder hurt like hell, and all in all it was just a huge waste of time. I promised myself I wouldn’t go back.”

“But you did.”

It wasn’t an accusation. Castiel’s voice was calm, steady in a way that seemed so familiar it made Dean’s soul ache for the sound of trickling water echoing between tiled walls. His grip around his glass tightened, the memory of Blue and everything he stood for hitting him square in the chest like a sledgehammer.

“Yeah, I did…” he confirmed silently. “About a month ago, I had a bit of a set back and I… needed an outlet.”

Castiel nodded and Dean finally took a drink from his beer, wondering silently if Castiel was aware of that he wasn’t just talking about the loss of his job here.

“So I went back. Apparently there’s a new owner,” he added, smoothly trying to move the subject away from the topic of him. He felt relieved when Castiel didn’t seem to mind the change. 

“Some guy called Crowley runs the place now,” he continued. “He’s fixed the joint up a bit, added a bit of class. It’s still a hellhole, but not as bad as it used to be.”

“There never was much hope for that place,” Castiel agreed. “It attracts the wrong crowd. No offense,” he added with a guilty look in Dean’s direction, but Dean just smirked.

“None taken. At least I didn’t work there,” he added with a leer.

“Very funny,” Castiel muttered, but there was no anger in his tone, just playful sarcasm. When Dean grinned at him over the brim of his glass, Cas returned his smile with a slight twitch of the lips.

“Still, it’s a bit surreal, don’t you think?” Dean asked as he put his glass back down and wiped the foam off his upper lip with his thumb.

“What is?” Castiel asked.

“That you used to work there of all places? Considering where you’re at right now it must feel like a lifetime ago…?”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say a lifetime,” Cas objected. “It’s only been about twenty years.”

“I know, I know… but, I mean, you started out as a busboy at a biker bar downtown, and now you’re a board member at one of the biggest cooperative companies in the city.” Dean reached out, grabbing a handful of peanuts from the bowl on the tray. “Your family must be proud,” he offered, as an afterthought, and Castiel’s shoulders immediately tensed.

“To be honest, I don’t think my family cares that much about what I do,” he mumbled. Dean frowned.

“What do you mean? Dude, your living room is bigger than my entire apartment! They must have  _ something  _ to say about that?”

Cas raised the beer to his lips, but lowered it again without drinking from it.

“Gabe and I…” he started, “we don’t get along with the rest of our family that well. We haven’t heard from them in years, so… they don’t know what I do for a living. Even if they did, they’d probably be pretty neutral about it.”

“Well that sucks.” Dean tried to make it sound like an empathic agreement, but behind the wall his mind was working on all cylinders now. So both Blue and Cas had issues with their families? Of course it was a long stretch, the city was filled with people who didn’t get along with their supposedly loved ones, but still… This could be the clue he had been hoping for all night, and if he could just… without making it sound like an accusation...

“So that’s why you worked as a busboy when you were a kid?” he asked softly, leaning in over the table so that he could lower his voice enough not to be heard by the surrounding patrons. Castiel looked up at him and Dean licked his lips, making sure he had the other’s full attention. 

“You ran away, didn’t you?” he asked. “You and Gabriel?”

Castiel suddenly looked absolutely terrified, his eyes going wide and his mouth falling open with a sharp intake of breath. Dean’s excitement instantly switched to regret as he quickly pulled back, silently cursing himself for being such an insensitive dick. That had got to have been the most unsubtle way possible to bring that subject up. He had most likely just managed to come off as an intrusive jerk!

“Sorry, that’s none of my business,” he apologized. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, I— It’s okay.” Castiel swallowed hard and Dean’s lungs almost ceased to function from anticipation when Cas straightened up in his seat, adopting a professional, almost stern facial expression that somehow made him look both older and younger at the same time. 

“Yes, we ran away,” he said slowly and Dean could feel his head begin to spin off its axle at the revelation.

“That must have been tough…” he breathed out and Castiel nodded solemnly.

“We did what we could. Worked where we could… We managed.” Blue eyes flickered up to meet with Dean’s green. “I’m sorry, but would it be okay if we talked about something else? The subject of my family has a tendency to put a damper on the good mood…” 

Dean blinked, the guilt from before rushing in with renewed force.

“Yeah, no I get it,” he agreed, “it’s cool. Sorry for, you know, being so pushy about it.”

“It’s alright. You didn’t know.”

Dean opened his mouth, but closed it again just as quickly, because he just didn’t know what to respond to that. He knew… but at the same time he didn’t. It was like having a story told, but with the main character’s name changed. It was beyond confusing, because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t decide weather the version he was listening to was a mere alteration, or a completely new set up.

It wasn’t exactly the same information he had been given by Blue, but then again, Dean hadn’t asked about how he and his brother had managed after they left their family. It had been more of a one way conversation, that whole thing, and as of now he regretted that he hadn’t asked for more specific details back then. There wasn’t much he could do about it now, though. Right  _ now, _ Dean had to find a different topic of conversation, or this date would quickly plummet into a depressing disaster, whether Castiel was Blue or not.

He cleared his throat, plucking with the peanuts in his hand before popping one into his mouth.

“So how come you started working at Edenstar?” he asked tentatively, and he silently thanked his lucky stars when Cas visibly relaxed at the question. 

“It was pure luck, to be honest,” he admitted modestly. “I managed to get hold of a summer job pushing the mail cart and things just sort of took off from there.”

“C’mon, that can’t be how it really happened?” Dean laughed. “First a busboy, then a postal worker, and after that straight on to board member?”

“Not exactly  _ that _ straight, but it’s mostly true,” Castiel chuckled. “I worked at the postal department three summers in a row. Learnt whose mail was most important, how to alter the mail round so that the right people got their things sorted out first—getting on a few people’s good sides. Eventually they hired me as a regular. It wasn’t a full time job, though, so I was able to study while I worked. It was tough, with many sleepless nights and lots of coffee, but somehow I managed to get myself a Master’s Degree in Business Economics. Then, some time after that, one of the lower department managers offered me an assistant job, and I took it.”

“Lucky break,” Dean commented and Cas laughed, shrugging.

“Well, mostly I think I got the offer because she wanted an opportunity to grab my ass more than twice a day. Still, it was a good job, and she had a sense of humor that I could appreciate. I learned a lot from her.”

“And then what?” 

“Same old story,” Cas sighed. “I worked as an assistant for about five years, and when Heather got assigned another position higher in the company, I took her place. Then, with a few more educational courses provided by Edenstar, I advanced. Using my  _ dashing _ personality and my  _ irresistible _ charms until I was assigned the position I have now.”

Dean could sense that there was a heap of sarcasm and perhaps even some self-loathing crammed somewhere into that last sentence, but he decided to let it go, concentrating on moving the subject forward. He did store the information away for later, however, cautiously adding another parallel line between Blue and Castiel’s personalities.

“And what position is that exactly?” he asked.

“Executive Marketing,” Cas said and when Dean raised an eyebrow in question he added: “I’m a CMO, which stands for Chief Marketing Officer.” 

“And what does a Market Officer do, exactly?” Dean grinned.

“Market _ ing _ Officer,” Cas corrected, smiling softly. “It’s my job to handle sales, market development, distribution, advertising, and marketing research. Amongst other things.”

Dean felt as if he had just been recited a poem in a foreign language. Castiel looked at him expectantly, but when Dean just gave him a blank stare in return, he sighed and pulled his hand through his hair. It made some of the strands at the back of his head stand up in thick, unruly spikes, but Dean decided not to say anything about it since… well, he liked the disheveled look on Cas. If acting dumb could make the other pull more fingers through his hair like that, then Dean had every intention of spending the rest of the evening being dumb as a post.  

“Okay, then let’s put it this way.” Castiel leaned in closer, folding both hands on the table. “If the company executives says that they’ve found a possible business partner in… let’s say China, then I’m the person they send there to check it out, and if possible, sign a contract with them.” 

He looked up, seeking confirmation that Dean understood what he was talking about, and when Dean nodded that he did,  he visibly relaxed. 

“Alright, so that’s market development, research and sales. Then there’s the advertising. Of course, there’s an entire department at Edenstar that makes the catalogues and ads, but I’m the one who tells them what products to use, what media they should go with, and which area of the market the ad is meant to reach.”

Dean gave an impressed little whistle.

“That sounds like a butt full of work,” he pointed out. Then he added, quickly, before he had the time to change his mind: “You must work late almost every day?”

“It happens,” Cas admitted, lifting his beer. Dean leaned back, rolling the remaining peanuts in his hand while he watched Castiel take a deep gulp out of his glass.

“Gabe told me you’ve been staying behind a lot lately,” he tried, feeling his stomach flip when he noticed the way Castiel’s jaw seemed to clench in response to the statement.

“I have,” Castiel mumbled, the words muffled by the glass in front of his mouth. “Lots to do lately.”

“You mean besides sneaking around after hours, breaking company rules?” Dean probed, receiving a sharp stare in return.

“You know,” he clarified, feeling a sweat break out over the back of his neck. “The heist we just did? With the codes?”

Castiel blinked and then he inhaled deeply, as if up until that point he had forgotten how to breathe properly.

“Oh,” he said meekly. “Those rules, of course… Right.”

“What?” Dean let out a strained laugh, his stomach flipping. “You’ve been doing other kinds of sneaking around lately?”

“No,” Castiel answered quickly, his voice rising threateningly close to a squeak. Then he shook his head, snorting loudly as he lowered his gaze to the tabletop. “One scheme was more than sufficient for me…” 

“Spoken like a true rebel,” Dean breathed. He tried to make it sound like a joke, but didn’t quite succeed. In fact, he didn’t feel as if he was quite succeeding with speaking at all. Instead he picked up his own glass, raising it in a toast.

“To revolution then,” he declared solemnly.

Castiel looked at him for a moment, and then he reached for his own glass, mimicking the gesture with a smirk.

“And the end of our world as we know it,” he added, making Dean chuckle nervously.

He raised the glass to his lips and drank down deeply, trying to still the pounding of his viciously beating heart. He could still be wrong. He could still be right. Oh, please, God, let him be right… 

They’d have another drink, Dean decided, trying to swallow down the one he already had. Or two, he added. Get a bit more relaxed, and then… then he’d ask. Just a few more drinks.

Had Dean looked over the rim of his glass then, he would have been able to see the way Castiel’s smile slowly fell off his face as he, too, drank deeply from his glass, basically emptying the so far untouched beer in five, very large, very anxious gulps.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The cab driver, in Castiel’s humble opinion, should definitely spend more time watching the road rather than the reflection of his passengers in the rear view mirror. 

So what if the two of them had been a bit loud when they climbed into the back seat? Dean had boisterously demanded the cabbie to drive them to a place called “The Roadhouse”, so that Cas and he could share a few rounds of what Dean called ‘Purple Nurples’. Which, in between the fits of laughter and half slurred words, came out sounding more like ‘Phurfle Nhurfles’ than anything else. 

The fact that Cas objected by saying that it was late and they should call it a night instead, following his statement up by giving the cabbie his address, didn’t exactly make things better from a prude’s point of view. And yes, maybe they were sitting a bit closer than what two guys usually did when sharing a cab, but at the moment, Cas couldn’t care less about homophobic cab drivers, or what they thought. 

Dean seemed to be of the same opinion, because when the cabbie sent a glare at them through the mirror for the sixth time since they got in, Dean answered by flamboyantly flipping his reflection off. Cas quickly yanked the offensive limb down by the elbow, hissing out a slurred reprimand under his breath. After that, they both dissolved into a fit of poorly contained laughter, hunching over in their seats with tears prickling the corner of their eyes, because the whole situation was just so  _ ridiculously funny _ . 

They weren’t really drunk, they had only had a total of three—granted, very large—beers each after dinner, but for some reason everything seemed so nice, so carefree and perfect, that exaggerating their buzzed state didn’t feel the slightest bit unnatural. 

It felt good, to let go without having to worry about the fact that his tie had once again twisted around to display the wrong side, that his unbuttoned trench coat had flailed all over the worn leather seats and gotten stuck under Dean’s foot when they climbed in, or that he at the moment wouldn’t be able to gather himself enough to pull off the look of a company board member, even if his life depended on it. 

None of that mattered, because right now it was him and Dean, and he never wanted it to be any other way ever again. Even though the cabbie obviously seemed willing to trade them both away for any other passenger in town. Especially since Cas still hadn’t removed his hand from Dean’s arm, and Dean had yet to give him any hints to suggest that he should. 

By the time they arrived at Castiel’s home, Cas’s stomach was hurting from his attempts to stifle his own laughter. His cheeks ached, his eyes narrowed into teary slits as they stumbled out of the vehicle with the same finesse as they had stumbled in. Cas had barely extended the money towards the rolled down window of the driver’s seat before the bills were ripped out of his hands and the taxi sped off down the road, apparently fed up with the two homos and their indecent, drunken behavior.

“Well, there goes my ride,” Dean giggled as Cas leaned out into the road, following the sight of the disappearing tail lights with a look of almost professional contemplation.

“So it does,” he eventually decided. Dean pursed his mouth, nodding matter-of-factly as the car turned around a corner and vanished out of sight with a wet screech of tires.

“Gone and gone,” he mumbled. Then he turned back towards Cas, who was still standing with one foot on the pavement and the other on the road, looking down the street as if he expected the cab to return if he just glared after it long enough.

“So…” Dean cleared his throat, making Castiel snap out of his glowering and turn around to face him, scowling when he saw Dean bring a hand up to scratch his neck awkwardly. “You wanna say good bye down here, or…?”

He left the rest of the question hanging, sending a quick glance to the building behind them, and in turn, Castiel chuckled as he reached out to grab a seductive hold around the sleeve of Dean’s jacket.

“I believe it’s customary to say your goodbyes in front of the date’s door?” he pointed out graciously, walking backwards toward the open entryway, which lead to the yard located at the center of the building, while Dean followed obediently in tow. “Besides, you’ll have to wait for a new cab, and it’s warmer in my apartment.”

“You sure?” Dean cocked a sarcastic eyebrow. “It’s only our first date. People might talk?”

“Then let them talk,” Cas deadpanned and that was apparently all the persuasion Dean needed.

The elevator ride up went quicker than what Cas would have liked, and far too soon, the elevator doors opened up, allowing them both to step out onto the open walkway stretching around the thirteenth floor. There were metal bars placed all around the path like a railing, to prevent anyone from accidentally falling over, and Castiel snickered when he noted how Dean very deliberately didn’t look anywhere near the ledge as they made their way towards his front door.

“Scared of heights?” he asked casually, hearing Dean give a nervous little chuckle behind him.

“Nah, the height doesn’t bother me… The fall down seems a bit nasty, though.”

Castiel grinned; his hand reaching into his pocket for his keys. The soft jingle was soon followed by a much louder clang when the bundle of metal slipped between his fingers and hit the concrete walkway by his feet.

“Typical,” Cas muttered. He bent down to retrieve the keys, but alas, great minds think alike, and when Dean bent over to do the same, their heads collided brutally, sending both men staggering backwards with similar cries of pain.

Dean groaned, grappling around his forehead where Castiel’s skull had struck, while Castiel leaned against the wall, hissing as he rubbed the back of his head with soothing, circular motions. One short glance at each other later they both started laughing again, the situation too comical to resist, and then Cas slowly picked the keys up, wincing a little when the movement made his head spin.

“Well, I suppose that’s a kiss as good as any,” he chuckled, straightening up and turning back towards Dean. “I’m not saying it couldn’t have been more romanti—“

That’s about as far as he got before his keys hit the ground for the second time in less than thirty seconds, his breath catching in his throat. The world slowly came to a complete standstill that seemed to last for an eternity, the reality swallowed up by the insistent press of Dean’s lips as they moved against his own. Then Castiel’s hands were suddenly grappling for the collar of Dean’s jacket, and next thing he knew, he was being shoved up with his back against the flat surface of his own front door. 

The sensation of Dean’s tongue slipping inside his mouth had everything short circuiting, and he both heard and felt Dean groan against his lips; sweet vibrations travelling down to settle in the pit of his stomach like an earthquake. 

Dean tasted like peanuts, salt, and beer, the tastes blending together into something that Castiel decided had to be the very taste of Dean himself. He dragged in a deep breath through his nose, feeling the scent of Dean’s skin fill up his lungs while the familiar spice of Tiger’s sandalwood shampoo sent his head whirling, causing his heart to almost stop dead in his chest. 

He moaned, couldn’t help the sounds that punched out of his lungs when the hard press of Dean’s body locked him in place against the door behind him. Oh, god, what was he supposed to do with himself? Hands, what were hands? Did he even have any, he couldn’t remember? 

Dean had hands at least, that was always something. He could feel them; big and strong against his hips as they pushed him back, pulling him in, mimicking the slow rocking of their tongues in a way that was so perfect, so downright  _ filthy _ it couldn’t be anything other than amazing. 

He wanted it, wanted everything, but it was getting too dangerous. Castiel could feel the urgency creep up on him, clawing at him from the inside out, and Dean had to go. He had to leave right now, or so help him, Cas would not be able to make him. 

He had barely finished the thought when he felt Dean’s fingers snake their way around to his back and in under his shirt where it had ridden up. He broke the kiss with a shudder when a single finger began dragging lazy circles against the curve of his back, and it took all the mental strength he could muster to grab hold of Dean’s lower arms, slowly pulling them away.

“Easy there, tiger,” he scolded breathlessly, still with his eyes closed. Immediately, he felt the light puff of air caused by Dean’s laughter as it ghosted across his lips in response.

“Too soon?” he mumbled, and Cas suppressed another shudder when he found that those lips were actually close enough to brush against his when Dean spoke.

“About two dates too soon,” he confirmed, gasping when Dean’s mouth dipped in to give him a quick, close to chaste kiss on the lips before pulling off and away completely. The chilly night air that rushed in where Dean’s body had been only moments ago almost made him change his mind, but Dean was already stepping backwards, pointing his thumb over his shoulder while grinning like a first rate idiot.

“So, I’m just gonna, you know, wait for the cab downstairs,” he rambled, and Cas nodded, still a bit too stunned out of his mind to come up with a proper response.

“I’ll call you later,” Dean continued. “Tomorrow, I mean, not tonight, you probably want to…. sleep. Or whatever, that’s not really my business. I know, there’s supposed to be some kind of a three day rule, but I don’t think we have to wait that long, right? Unless you want to wait?” he added hurriedly, and Cas couldn’t help but laugh, because Dean was actually behaving more confused than Cas himself felt.

“You can call me whenever you like,” he smiled, feeling his stomach flutter when Dean smiled back.

“Alright!” he grinned. “Great…! Well then… uh, good night, I guess. Sleep tight, or, you know, whatever.”

Dean turned around with a little wave, and promptly managed to smack his knee into one of the bannisters with a hard, metallic clang that reverberated through the steel handrail, sounding around the entire floor. It took everything Castiel had not to burst out in another uncontrolled fit of laughter when Dean grabbed hold of the railing, desperately trying to mute the ruckus, only to reel back in panic when he found himself standing on the very edge of the abyss opening up below him.

“Sorry!” Dean called out, still smiling, but with a nervous flicker of his eyes towards the space beyond the ledge. “Sorry…! I’m okay, I just— I’ll call you! Okay? Okay…!”

With that, he then turned around and disappeared down the flight of stairs, seemingly completely forgetting that there was an elevator only a few steps away. 

Castiel was biting his lip to keep himself from laughing, pushing the door handle down in what turned out to be a futile attempt to get into his apartment. He didn’t remember that the keys were still lying harmless and unused on the ground, until he had almost dislocated his shoulder trying to force the door open. He was  _ not _ drunk, damn it! 

He had heard about the term ‘kissed silly’, but this was just…  _ too _ silly!

Once he managed to get inside, he locked the door behind him, then carefully hung his trench coat up and placed his shoes neatly in the shoe rack by the door. After that, he slumped against the wall in the hallway, boneless and mushy, feeling a hysteric giggle bubble up his throat. Holy shit….

Dean had  _ kissed _ him. And he had kissed Dean  _ back _ . 

His fingers slowly came up to brush against his lower lip, where the phantom feeling of Dean’s mouth still lingered. He huffed out a laugh and leaned his head back to thud lightly against the wall, wincing when the lump from the collision outside made itself known once again. 

The grey tie was still lying in front of the mirror where he had left it, and even though he tried, he still couldn’t remember why he had picked it out in the first place. How could he ever have even  _ considered  _ wearing something other than the tie Dean had put on him? Oh, God, Dean actually picked out and  _ dressed _ him, and they had  _ kissed _ , actually  _ kissed, _ and  _ oh, God _ …

The next second, he was almost startled out of his own skin when a firm knock on his front door sent him reeling back up into a standing position. He turned to stare silently at the door handle while various images of robbers and thieves took a few moments to flash through his brain. Then, with a healthy dose of wariness, he stepped forward and unlocked the door, hesitantly opening it. 

It was Dean.

Dean, leaning against his doorframe, the goofy smile from before now wiped off his face, looking a whole lot more sober than he had only minutes ago.

“Dean?” Castiel started. “Why are you—“

“What did you call me?”

The temperature of Castiel’s body instantly dropped below freezing point.

“What—” he breathed, but Dean cut him off.

“You called me Tiger, didn’t you?”

_ Easy there, tiger… _

Oh, shit…   

“Yes…” Cas grated out. “Yes, I—I did, I—“

Before he could say anything else—before he could brush it off by calling it ‘a matter of speech’—Dean had already pushed his way past him, into the apartment. Moments later, Castiel found himself closing and locking the door behind him on pure reflex, because what else was he supposed to do?

When he turned around, he found Dean standing in the middle of the hallway, back towards him with one hand defiantly set on his hip, the other rubbing slowly over his mouth. Cas knew that he should probably say something; that he would be  _ required _ to say something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t come up with a single sentence. The cold from his chest was slowly threading icy fingers through his veins, freezing him to the spot, making his mind go numb. 

Oh, what had he done…? What had he  _ done…?! _

“Alright,” Dean rumbled, throwing the hand that had been rubbing circles over his lips out to the side. “I can’t do this anymore….”

“Dean, I don’t—”

“No,” Dean interrupted, his voice cracking. “Just cut the crap. Okay? Just… tell me it’s you.”

Castiel couldn’t feel his pulse anymore, which meant that he was probably dead or dying, but when he didn’t answer, Dean turned around to face him, and no, he couldn’t be dead yet, because ghosts didn’t have knees that could buckle. The raw display of emotions that he saw shining in those green eyes made his entire body tremble, and he swallowed, fighting for air when Dean took a step towards him, the sound of his boots heavy on the wooden floor.

“Tell me it’s you,” Dean repeated, “and not just me going out of my goddamn mind.”  

“Dean—”

“Damnit, Cas, either you know what I’m talking about, or you don’t!” Dean’s eyes flashed hard and Castiel’s mouth shut with a faint click of teeth. 

“Tell me if it’s you, or so help me, I’m—” He cut himself off. The hand came back up to rub over his now closed mouth, once again adopting that look of complete helplessness that cut into Castiel’s heart like a razor. Castiel’s thoughts were scrambling around his head, making the world spin, and he had to fix his eyes on a spot in between his feet on the carpet just to keep himself steady. 

He screwed up… After all this time, he had managed to screw it up. One slip of the tongue and here he was, the crossroad he had feared since the moment Dean had crowded him inside that god forsaken garage looming before him. This was it. Right here and right now, and Castiel was crumbling, slowly falling apart, because how could he ever— How was he supposed to— 

“Yes.” 

He heard Dean’s breath seize when he said it, and oh, did that sound hurt.

Forcing his head up, he willed his eyes to go with the movement until they locked onto Dean’s face. He swallowed hard, sending one last, desperate plea to a God he had long since abandoned that he would let him survive this. Then he opened his mouth again; the words falling off the tip of his tongue in a quiet whisper.

“Hello, Tiger.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading guys, I hope you enjoyed it ;)
> 
> If you want, you're very welcome to leave me comments on the fic and your thoughts on it so far.  
> It would really help me with the final edits for the next chapter :)
> 
> Until next week, my darlings! <3


	12. 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, Ao3 glitched out on me and posted chapter 11 twice. I hope you guys get notified about this chapter still, crossing my fingers that deleting the faulty chapter and reuploading the correct one will work <3

“Son of a bitch…”

Castiel flinched, expecting to hear anger and hurt in Dean’s voice, but found to his growing horror that it contained nothing but an empty void. A vast nothingness that grasped around his soul with deadly cold fingers, crushing him slowly.

The sentence itself was numb; choked out as if the words were fighting to stay in the back of the other man’s throat, and Castiel wished that he could find a way to chase the tortured expression away from Dean’s face, to clear the dimness from his eyes. Those were things that  _scared_ him, more than anything he had ever encountered in his life, and he just wanted them to _go away_.

The hallway had fallen silent, the low sound of their breathing the only thing disrupting the air. Dean was staring out into open space, eyes flickering from left to right while his lips opened and closed without sound, searching for words that wouldn’t come. Castiel was staring down at the carpet by his feet, shame like a thick lump in his throat.

He screwed up. He screwed up so bad… Fuck, what was he supposed to do now? What was he supposed to say? All the things he had prepared to say, the many ways he had planned to break this to Dean slowly; all of them, gone. Damnit, this was not the way he had intended things to go!

“How long have you known…?”

The sudden gravel of Dean’s voice made him jerk, and he sent the other an anxious glance from the corner of his eye, before letting his gaze fall back to the floor.

“Since Singer’s Salvage,” he confessed silently, the sound of his own betrayal echoing throughout the words. “I realized who you were the very moment you opened your mouth…”

“Son of a bitch….” Dean repeated, still sounding more dazed than angry; shock and disbelief winding themselves between the syllables like a traitorous snake. Castiel could see the weight on Dean’s feet shift back and forth, and he heard the shuddered breath the other let out before speaking again; hot, angry words now slicing into Castiel’s soul like blades against his skin.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me…?”

“I wanted to,” Castiel whispered, forcing himself to look up, to face the fury he was sure to find in Dean’s face.

“You wanted to,” Dean repeated, his hand coming up to rub once across his mouth in a twitchy, angry motion. “You’ve known all this time and that’s all you’ve gotta say?”

“I know,” Castiel winced, “I know, and I’m so, so sorry. I wanted to tell you so many times—”

“Then why didn’t you?” Dean’s eyes grew hard, his voice slicing through the air; so loud, so _angry_ . “Why didn’t you just open your _goddamn mouth_ and _tell_ me!?”

“Dean, I—“

“I was _right there_ , Cas!” Dean yelled. “I was there _all along_ and you could have told me any time you wanted! At Bobby’s, at Sam’s! Hell, you could have told me _tonight!_ We had _hours_ were it was just you and me, and you didn’t even—”

He cut himself off, dragging his hand hard over his eyes, and Cas didn’t know what to do. Dean was right, of course he was right. Castiel had been able to come clean from the very start. God knew he had been given plenty of chances and he still hadn’t done a thing.

“I didn’t know how to say it...” he mumbled. “I didn’t know if you— How you would _react_. For all I knew, you would be angry about me finding out who you were, and I swear, that if it hadn’t been for Gabriel—”

“Hold on a minute.” Dean stared at him, holding out a hand to cut him off. “ _Gabriel_ ? _Gabe_ knows about this?”

“Yes,” Castiel straightened up, because this, at least, he could admit to. “I told him.”

“You _told_ him?!” Dean winced and Castiel scowled.

“My brother is smarter than you give him credit for,” he pointed out sharply, suspecting what Dean was getting at. “Once he realized that I was depressed over a relationship gone wrong, he figured most of it out by himself.”

“How the hell could he _figure it out?_ ” Dean objected. “People don’t just _figure out_ things they know nothing about, Cas!”

“He got worried!” Castiel snapped back. “And when Sam started talking about how you were behaving, he put two and two together. The next thing I knew, someone syphoned the gasoline out of my tank, and— Well, the rest I think you know,” he ended, throwing his hand out towards Dean who nodded, lips thinning down into a hard line.

“Yeah. Yeah, I remember…”

Castiel sighed, leaning back heavily against the wall. Dean crossed his arms over his chest, looking away. The apartment went silent again, its height and thick windows preventing the sounds from the traffic below to reach inside, and even though Castiel was used to it, he had never experienced the silence as suffocating as he did right now.

Dean’s anger was like a crushing weight against his body, pushing him against the plaster of the wall like an invisible force. His hands were trembling, adrenaline coursing through his system with a vicious, gut wrenching speed that left his insides shaking. He felt nauseous, his stomach turning over, and the lump in his throat was still there, suffocating him slowly as he tried to wrap his mind about what was happening. What was about to happen…

“You really were depressed?”

Castiel’s gaze made a quick flicker in Dean’s direction, turning away just as fast when he met the hard look out of the corner of Dean’s eye.

“Yes,” he mumbled quietly. “At least that’s what Gabriel called it.”

“Depressed over me?”

“Yes… “

Admitting that shouldn’t have felt as embarrassing as it did—not when he knew how Dean himself had been behaving lately—but to say it out loud like that…

He knew that he had in no way made himself worthy of any protection or cover, but that didn’t change how exposed and naked he felt, tossed into the spotlight like a convict in waiting for the jury’s ruling. Dammit, he didn’t want it to end like this! Dean deserved to hear the reason for Castiel’s actions, even if an explanation didn’t hold any form of forgiveness in store for Castiel himself. Cas _owed_ him that.

“I wanted to tell you,” he mumbled, and he felt the weight of Dean’s eyes land on him, the glare of the spotlight focusing even harder. “When Gabe took me to that garage, I had no idea that you would be there. I swear, had I just been given time to prepare, to think about how I would say it, I would have told you who I was the moment Gabe left.”

“You could have told me at Sam’s,” Dean deadpanned, unforgiving. “We were alone in his kitchen for ages and I even— For fuck’s sakes, I _told_ you! You were right there and I _told_ you that I—”

“And both our brothers were in the very next room,” Castiel interrupted quietly, taking the edge of Dean’s yelling before it grew even louder. “If you would have taken the reveal of my true identity the wrong way… I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the story of how we met isn’t exactly the kind you want to share with the grandchildren, even less your siblings.”

“What difference would that have made?” Dean muttered. “Gabriel already knew.”

“Sam didn’t.”

“You think I cared about if Sam found out about what we’ve been doing?” Dean snapped. “I don’t give a fuck about what he thinks. Or what anyone thinks! I cared about _you,_ and the only reason I didn’t tell Sam about us when he asked was because it was none of his _business_ ! Damn it, Cas…!” He pulled a frustrated hand through his hair. “I mean, you thought I’d get _mad_ at you? What did I ever do to make you think I wouldn’t want you back? Huh? What did I _do?_ ”

“Nothing.” Cas shook his head. “You did nothing.”

“But then _why—_ ”

“Dean, I am a social disaster!” Cas winced, throwing his hands out to his sides in a helpless gesture that made Dean’s brow furrow in confusion as Cas continued, his voice choking in his throat: “I come into a relationship and I destroy _everything!_ And by telling you, right there and then who I was, I would without a doubt have destroyed everything, _again_. Even during the best case scenario, I would only have ended up ruining us both!”

“ _That’s_ what you think?” Dean gaped. “That after all this time, you would mess it up by being _honest?_ ”

“We were supposed to be a _fling_ , Dean!” Castiel tried to explain, frustration tearing at his vocal chords. “A strange, unconventional, messed up _fling,_ and I didn’t know if you would— If _we_ would—” He groaned, swallowing hard as he grappled for the right words to use, but his mind was blank, and he had nothing, absolutely nothing to help him express what he was trying to say.

“I suppose it’s my curse in life,” he mumbled. “No matter how hard I try, I just seem to be incapable of keeping relationships...”

“You stupid son of a bitch.”

Castiel’s mouth shut with a faint click of teeth, the hiss of Dean’s voice making him want to cower in on himself. Dean looked as if he was seconds away from punching him in the face, hands balled into white-knuckled fists by his sides.

“I thought I was losing my mind,” Dean growled. “I thought I was imagining things… _Hearing_ things, I— Just the sound of your _voice…!_ ”

All color left Castiel’s face then, his heart turning into a block of ice in his chest.

“You recognized my voice…?” he whispered and in return Dean snorted out a harsh laugh.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked. “You don’t think your voice had me second guessing myself over and over, whenever I was near you? You don’t think I spent _hours_ trying to figure out what the hell was _wrong_ with me? Asking myself why being around you made me feel—”

Dean swallowed hard and Castiel’s eyes glued themselves to the carpet once more, because it _hurt_ to see Dean like that, the emotions playing over his face with painful clarity, unrestraint and disordered.

“I told myself I was being an idiot,” Dean continued, almost mocking. “That your voice was similar, but not really the same. And then you started talking to me at Sam’s that night and I _heard_ it… Fuck, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Just the thought that it might actually be you…”

“What gave me awa—” Cas started, but Dean cut him off with a snort

“What _didn’t_ give you away?” he asked. “There was your voice, your sense of humour. The way you’d look at me… Or how pissed you got when I accused you of driving a company car, _again_. With that damn tap running water in the background, I could have sworn—”

Dean bowed his head.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that. Both of you,” he added, and Cas could tell from the tone of his voice that he was talking about Blue.

“I compared the two of you in my head,” Dean continued. “Made a fucking _list_ of the things that added up and the things that didn’t… But I figured that if it was _you—_ if it really, _really_ was you—then how come you didn’t recognize me back? Even when I said I missed you and wanted to see you again, you said nothing.” He looked up, hurt and confusion covering his face.

“Why didn’t you _say_ anything?” he asked silently, the pain in his eyes making Castiel want to downright stab himself.

“I was scared,” he whispered. “I never thought I’d see you again and then suddenly you were just _there_ . Alive and _real,_ and I panicked! I didn’t want you to think that I was some kind of stalking nutcase and… I figured that getting to keep you around as a friend would be a better alternative than tell you the truth and risk losing you for a second time.”

Dean’s brow furrowed.

“What are you talking about, you didn’t _lose_ me.”

“You told me to stay away,” Castiel pointed out. “You told me that your problems with the company were none of my concern, and then you walked out. _You_ left _me_ , Dean.” He shook his head, turning his eyes away.  “I would have followed you anywhere and you left me…”

“To keep you _safe_ ,” Dean objected.

“I didn’t need _protection_ , I needed _you_ ,” Castiel snarled, but retreated directly after. “I still do…” he confessed silently.

“Really?” Dean quipped, and even though it sounded more like sarcasm than an honest question, Castiel answered it anyway.

“Yes,” he mumbled. He waited, expecting a response, and after a few moments of silence, he heard Dean shift and take a slow, deliberate step forward.

“ _You_ need _me?_ ” Dean repeated, as if he expected there to be a lie in there somewhere.

“Yes…” Castiel hissed, and in his lungs the air seemed to shrink, feeling as if a fist had reached into his chest and _squeezed_ , Dean’s eyes seeking out his with the intensity of a sharpened blade.

“Why?”

Cas looked away, but Dean canted his head, following the movement to catch and hold his gaze.

“Why do you need me, Cas?” he demanded, stepping closer again, now standing just a few feet away. Castiel could have reached out and touched him had he wanted to and Dean, oh, God, came even _closer_. Dean’s one hand rose up to rest against the wall just next to Castiel’s head, before Dean himself leaned in, and Castiel had to close his eyes when he felt the warm puff of breath ghost against his neck.

“Tell me why you need me,” Dean breathed against his ear, his voice just above that of a growl, and Castiel’s breath hitched when he felt another hand come up to drag a lone finger along the silk of his tie.

“Is it because I turn you on?” Dean whispered. “Because I can make you feel good in ways no one else can?”

Castiel gulped, attempting to clear his mind from the daze Dean’s proximity caused to fill his head, because he could still hear the anger in Dean’s voice. Right now, Dean wasn’t asking if Castiel had enjoyed the things they had done together in Edenstar’s shower room; he was asking if they were the _only_ things he had enjoyed, and that was not true!

“No,” he rasped.

“No?” Dean pulled back, a surprised, almost defiant frown on his brow. Castiel shook his head.

“No,” he repeated. He opened his eyes, fixing them on Dean’s with a glare, feeling the accusing weight of Dean’s hand against his chest lighten.

For the longest time, they stood like that, staring each other down. Castiel looked at Dean’s face, taking in the green depths of the eyes before him, the sharp rise of cheekbones and the soft curve of lips, knowing that this could be the last time he would ever be this close to them again.

“I need you…” he said, “because without you…”

“Yes…?” Dean whispered, almost hissed, and Castiel wished, wished so badly that this would not be the end of things. That this final truth would not cost him whatever minuscule chance he might have had to fix this.

“Because being without you hurts too much. I—” He swallowed, his eyes dropping to the thin line of Dean’s lips. “I need you, because without you it feels as if my soul’s been ripped in half. Like I’m just a broken part of a something, and I can’t take it. I can’t, Dean, I’m—”

He looked away, not wanting to see as the look of disgust and rejection appeared on Dean’s face. He knew that his metaphor sounded dramatic and over exaggerated, but just the thought of carrying on with his life as if nothing had happened—to think that he would live, day after day, without Dean by his side to complete him—made cold sweat break out on his skin, drowning his mind in panic. How was he supposed to survive a fate like that, now, when he knew exactly what he had lost?

“I understand that it won’t change anything…” he mumbled.

In response, the touch of Dean’s hand left his chest, the loss causing a wet burn at the corner of his eyes. Even though he had expected it to happen, it still _hurt_ , the loss ripping into his soul with poisoned fangs that oozed scorching venom through the wounds.

“I’m sorry it ended like this,” he whispered. If he listened hard enough, he was sure that he could hear his own heart chink and crack inside his chest when Dean straightened up, most likely to leave. He wanted to look up, wanted one last glance at the man who had brought his life to this miserable state, but his mind did not have the strength to govern his body, the pain of having Dean walk out of his life being far too strong.

Then, without warning, there were hands grabbing around both sides of his face, forcing his head up, and then Dean’s mouth was on his. Full lips swallowed up the startled gasp rushing out of his lungs with a greedy growl as Dean shoved him up against the wall so hard, it caused the small photo frame next to Castiel’s head to rattle loudly.

Castiel’s hands came up to grab around Dean’s wrists in surprise and confusion, but when Dean pulled back, those green eyes of his were closed. With his mouth still partially open, panting in the space between their lips, Dean then pressed his forehead against Castiel’s own, fingers molding themselves against his jawline.

“Well, I’d rather have you…” Dean grated out, and when he opened his eyes to lock onto Castiel’s from beneath dark lashes, Cas’ stomach drew together almost painfully tight. His hands grappled for the sleeves of Dean’s jacket when Dean leaned in once more, his lips stopping just a hairs width away from Castiel’s own, their foreheads still pressed together.

“Cursed or not.”

Castiel shivered, feeling the heat of Dean’s breath against his mouth, but he didn’t understand what was happening. Why was Dean still here and why was he—  

“Dean…?” he whispered, but Dean shook his head.

“Cas…” he breathed, hot air tickling Castiel’s lips. “I need you too, you stupid bastard. I _need_ you, do you understand me?”

Castiel wanted to shake his head, to tell Dean that no, he didn’t understand, didn’t understand it at all, because how could Dean even stand the sight of him? After seeing what a pathetic coward he was, how could Dean stand there and say that he _needed_ him? He wanted to say no, but instead, he felt his head move in the light grip of Dean’s hands, managing a stuttering nod that might has well have been a shudder, but Dean seemed to get the point.

The fingers against his right jawline slid down to tickle the nape of his neck underneath his collar, and this time, Cas actually did shudder; a vicious tremble that travelled through his whole body, his tongue swiping out to moisture his dry lips as he tried to will his mind back into focus.

“I was going to tell you tonight,” he whispered. “I tried to tell you, but I couldn’t—”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Yeah, I was going to tell you too…”

“You were?” Castiel tried to pull back, to look at Dean’s face, but Dean wouldn’t let  him. He just followed with the movement, pressing his forehead closer to Castiel’s brow.

“I was…” Dean snorted. “I even tried, but— I choked…”

Castiel swallowed thickly, his head rushing to catch up. Dean had wanted to—  Dean had _known_ that—  

“So you knew too?” he asked quietly. “Who I was?”

“I suspected it,” Dean admitted. “But I wanted to be sure before I— I wanted to be _right…_ but—”

“Cold feet,” Castiel finished knowingly.

“Yeah…” Dean snorted. “Cold feet…”

“I guess that makes us even, then?”

“Guess it does.”

They fell silent. Castiel’s heart was still beating viciously inside his chest, but it had calmed somewhat. It was no longer panic coursing through his veins, but something else. A wild thrumming that left his senses on high alert, anticipation coiling hot in his stomach.

“So… What happens now?” he managed, slowly releasing the leather of Dean’s jacket. He expected Dean to move back, but the other simply tilted his head slightly to the left, causing their brows to rub together in something Cas interpreted as a shrug.

“What do you want to happen?” he mumbled.

“What do _you_ want?” Cas countered. Dean sighed, leaning to the side so that his forehead moved away from Castiel’s and instead came to a rest against the wall next to his shoulder.

“Honestly…?” Dean mumbled, pressing the words into the fabric of Castiel’s shirt. “I have no fucking idea.”

Well, Castiel could sympathize with that…

“Then what _don’t_ you want?” he asked instead.

“To leave,” Dean answered immediately. Castiel’s hands clutched into fists by his sides, and he took a deep breath as he attempted to keep himself from trembling.

“Then don’t,” he offered silently. “Stay here…”

Another moment of silence.

“You’d be okay with that?” Dean actually sounded surprised, as if he had thought Castiel would reject him and throw him out, which was probably the most bizarre thing Castiel had ever heard.

“Of course,” he whispered. Next to his head, Dean chuckled, Dean’s right hand moving in to rest against the wall next to Castiel’s waist.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he offered, and Cas nodded, a timid smile slowly creeping over his lips.

“We’ll come up with something,” he promised.

The silence that followed felt different from the previous ones. Warmer. Softer.

Dean was still slotted up against him, the heat of his skin seeping through their clothes, slowly thawing the block of ice that had been lodged in Castiel’s gut for the past twenty minutes. The other’s fingers were still brushing slow, feathery strokes against his neck, and Castiel soon found himself close to panting in Dean’s arms; the light tickle growing increasingly distracting. When Dean then sighed, soft and contently right next to his ear, Cas felt as if his legs had just been stolen away from underneath his body.

“Dean…?” he said quietly and Dean sighed again. Pressing in closer, Dean was now using the full weight of his body to efficiently crowd Castiel against the wall, causing a fire that had nothing to do with body heat to spark low in Cas’s gut.

“Mhm…?” Dean mumbled drowsily and Castiel swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment to compose himself. As much as he liked what was going on here, there was still something that he needed to know before he lost complete control of himself.

“Sleeping quarters aside…” he rasped, “what do you suppose happens now? With us…?”

The hand on his neck stilled, Dean’s breath sounding low and steady against his ear. Castiel felt goose bumps rise all over his body as he held his breath, waiting for an answer.

“I’m still mad at you for not telling me the truth,” Dean confessed after a while, and Castiel’s heart sank. “But, when you think about it, I guess I’m to blame for this mess just as much as you are. I mean, I could have asked you who you were just as easily as you could have told me… So I guess that makes us partners in crime. Again.”

“Are you saying that we’re good?” Castiel asked in disbelief and next to his ear Dean snorted out chuckle.

“It means that we’ll need to talk,” he corrected, “but not tonight…”

Dean sighed again, dragging in a slow breath through his nose.

“Damn, you smell so good…” he sighed, making Castiel genuinely smile for a second. Then his heart almost came crashing out of his chest when Dean suddenly leaned in, nuzzling his nose against the side of his neck. When Dean’s mouth found and latched onto his pulse, just below his jaw, the hands that so far had been hanging lax and idle by Castiel’s sides, shot up to grasp around Dean’s shoulders with a gasp.

Dean’s lips moved slowly, worshiping his skin as they rose higher, leaving a trail of pattering kisses up his neck, over his jaw and then up to the corner of his mouth while Castiel practically melted back against the wall.

“Dean…”

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to get you like this?” Dean rasped against his lips and Castiel nodded, his eyes fluttering shut ,because yeah, he had a pretty good idea.

“So long…” Dean repeated, letting out a helpless little wince against Castiel’s cheek. “You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” he whispered. “Straight out of my mind… Even like this…”

Castiel groaned, feeling Dean’s words run hot over his skin. Panting, his grip around Dean’s jacket tightened when Dean pulled back to look him in the eye.

“Cas?”

“Yes…?” Castiel answered shakily.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you again?”

Castiel let out a breathless laugh.

“Don’t ask stupid questions…” he berated softly, and then Dean’s lips were back on his, causing the world to melt into a hot daze around him.

It was a slow kiss; tender and almost hesitant, only lips touching and pressing for what seemed like ages, until Dean’s tongue finally made a slow, tentative swipe over his lips. Castiel opened up willingly beneath the touch, allowing him inside with an encouraging moan.

Dean licked into his mouth, hot and slow like fire, making every nerve in his body crackle with a tension he didn’t even know how to name. Cas eagerly returned the favor, feeling something in his brain snap when Dean moaned breathily into the kiss as Castiel moved his hands up to run fingers through the short hair at the back of Dean’s scalp, feeling Dean’s body quiver in response. There was a careful nudge against his leg when Dean’s knee sneaked in between his, pushing up, making Cas bite down over his own lip to stifle the embarrassing loud moan that threatened to escape him.

Everything moved so tortuously slow. Hips grinding, fingers curling, breath mingling; silently, steadily, yet _heavy_ in a way that was absolutely maddening. When one of Dean’s hands suddenly dropped down to grab hold of Castiel’s hip and push them even closer, Cas let out a low growl from the back of his throat, tipping his head back against the wall with a loud thud. Dean’s mouth immediately dropped down to suckle at his neck, teeth grazing his skin and making his breath hitch, his entire being screaming out for _more_.

“Hey, Cas…?” Dean breathed and Cas groaned in response, tugging at Dean’s hair to pull him away from his neck and up for another kiss. Dean, however, remained where he was, the lobe of Castiel’s ear slipping in between his lips with a low suckle.

“I realized...” he whispered, “…that there’s one more thing I don’t want.”

“And wha—” Castiel swallowed down a gasp when Dean’s teeth started nibbling on his earlobe. “What’s that?”

“To sleep on the couch….” Dean mumbled, and Castiel felt the shackles that had been locked around his self-restraint snap open with a pang that shook through his very senses.

“Oh, thank God…” he groaned.

Next thing, Dean got shoved away so fast he barely had the chance to let go of Castiel’s hip, Castiel following to catch him by the lapels of his jacket. Cas pushed him up against the opposite wall as Dean stumbled backwards, thrusting his tongue inside the taller man’s mouth with an eagerness that startled even himself.

The roughness of Castiel’s kiss seemed to catch Dean off guard as well, but he quickly got the hang of the new rules as he straightened up, allowing Cas to slide the jacket off his shoulders, and throw it to the floor by their feet. When Cas moved on to tear at the knot of his own tie, however, Dean stopped him, forcefully prying his hands away from the black and red silk.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled as he grabbed hold of the tie himself, using it to pull Cas closer. “ _I_ put that on; _I_ decide when it comes off.”

“You’re planning to fuck me with my tie around my neck?” Cas threw back, not really thinking about what he was saying, For a moment, the two of them seemed to lose track of what they were doing, both a bit startled to hear their intentions voiced out that bluntly. Then Dean’s lips parted in a wolfy grin, his hand giving the tie a teasing tug.

“Well, that’s one idea…” he smirked, “As I recall it, we had some pretty interesting conversations regarding that _blue_ tie of yours.”

Castiel closed his eyes, breathing in deeply through his nose, because he could definitely recall those conversations. The memories alone brought a close to painful flare of lust to spark through his gut.

“We did,” he agreed. Dean nodded, swiping his thumb up and down the tie in his hand, before looking down at it.

“But that was the blue tie, and sadly, this one’s black,” he pointed out, hooking a finger into the already loosened knot. “And that just won’t do…”

“It definitely won’t,” Castiel agreed, allowing Dean to pull the tie off, hearing the soft whisper as it slithered off his neck to land on the floor next to Dean’s leather jacket.

“Where’s your bedroom?” Dean nipped at his lip.

“Second door to the right,” Cas breathed back. Dean nodded, pulling away, tugging at Castiel to follow him.

The journey through the apartment was quick, but somehow, Castiel’s vest still managed to get lost on the way somewhere between the living room and the bathroom. When they arrived at the bedroom door, Dean’s shirt was already hanging open, his black tie nowhere to be seen as the two of them stumbled through the doorway in a haphazard jumble of clothes, hands, mouths, and patches of naked skin.  

Castiel’s hand slid over a small control panel on the inside of the door, and after a few attempts, which were partially ruined by Dean’s groping fingers, he managed to turn on the lights of the two, dimmed table lamps on either side of the bed.

As they broke apart, Dean made a valiant attempt to get his shirt off and toss it aside, all in one fluid motion. Instead, he ended up cursing silently when the cuff of his left sleeve got caught in his wrist watch, turning his casual flick into a violent flapping of fabric instead.

“Smooth move,” Castiel commented with a smirk when Dean finally managed to free himself from the garment, popping the buttons of his own shirt as he spoke. Dean sent him a halfhearted glare that quickly morphed into a mischievous grin as he stepped forward and grabbed Castiel around the waist. The next second, he was tugging the shirt out of Castiel’s pants, pulling the garment over Castiel’s head at the same time as he spun them both around, and shoved.

Castiel landed on the bed, sprawled out on his back with Dean straddled across his midsection, his arms efficiently trapped in the red shirt held over his head.

“Not as smooth as that one,” Dean countered, tugging pointedly at the shirt. Castiel huffed out a low snort, and then he bucked his hips, causing Dean to lose his balance and topple over, just barely avoiding to do a full on faceplant on top of Cas’s chest.

“You were saying?” Cas quipped. Dean released the shirt with a grin, allowing Castiel to tangle free before he dove down for a new kiss, breathing out a chuckle against Castiel’s lips.

“So what do you think? Am I going to see some of those wood handling skills of yours tonight?” He finished the sentence by shamelessly grinding his hips down in a slow, languid motion. Castiel had no problem figuring out what the pun was about, but he wasn’t innocent enough _not_ to pretend that he did.

“You already have,” he said instead, and as Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion, he clarified with a smirk: “You’re lying in it.”

It took a few moments, but then his point seemed to get through, Dean sitting up higher to look at the large, oak headboard in front of him.

“You made your own bed?” he asked incredulously.

“One of my more ambitious projects,” Castiel admitted humbly, and Dean nodded, undoubtedly impressed.

“Ambitious being the right word.” He looked down at Castiel again, raising a teasing brow at him. “So… “ he asked. “You ever had sex in this bed before?”

“I never had occasion, actually” Castiel admitted.

“Then what do you say about taking it for a test run?” Dean mumbled, leaning down to nip at Castiel’s neck. “See how it handles the curves?” he added, the hand that had been splayed gently over Castiel’s stomach suddenly dipping down and rubbing against his crotch, startling an affirmative moan from the man below him.  He let  his tongue make a quick, teasing swipe along the edge of Castiel’s ear before he continued downwards, licking a messy trail down the length of Castiel’s neck.

Castiel could feel the rough edge of Dean’s stubble scratch against his skin, making him shiver. Carding his fingers through Dean’s spiky hair, his own lips parted and panting,  he watched Dean’s mouth work it’s way over his chest, tracing the outline of his ribs and stomach. He chuckled when the tongue wiggled against his skin, tickling him, and then arched his back and moaned when Dean made a sharp turn, coming back up to mouth and lap at his left nipple.

“Yeah, I figured you’d like that,” Dean mused, fingers moving away from the hard outline of Castiel’s cock in favor of dragging blunt nails along the inside of his thigh instead.

“You’ve always been a sucker for the teasing… Remember those pretty noises you used to make for me? That sexy, impatient little whine you’d make when it all became too much…?”

Castiel nodded, his body making an erratic twitch when Dean’s hand started kneading the ridge of his hip, rocking him slowly.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about that sound?” Dean asked against his chest. “How many times I’ve shot my load all over myself, imagining you right there with me. Your body on top of mine… Your tongue licking into my mouth…”

Oh, the picture those words painted, heaven have mercy! Castiel could feel his abs draw together in pure ecstasy at the thought alone; Dean spread out and wanton with his hand around his dick, moaning out his release to the ceiling with come splattering all over his stomach and chest . His grip tightened in Dean’s hair, a growl rising inside his chest.

“Dean,” he warned, “if you don’t shut up and get naked within the next ten seconds, I’m going to make you sleep in your car.”

“Wow, aren’t you eager for a virgin,” Dean smirked, teeth gracing Castiel’s other, so far unattended, nipple, making him choke out a moan.

“You gave me a replica of your own dick,” Cas pointed out, neck craning back into the beddings. “Doesn’t that technically mean that you’ve fucked me already?”

Dean looked up from his ministrations, a somewhat shocked expression on his face. Then he buried his face against Castiel’s chest, growling out an exhilarated curse against his ribcage.

“Shit, I almost forgot about that…” he breathed. Then suddenly both of Dean’s hands were under the small of Castiel’s back, lifting him up as Dean’s mouth slid down to bite loosely on the skin just below his navel.

“Did you use it?” Dean growled, predatory possession seeping into his voice, making Castiel’s head sear. “Did you use it to fuck yourself, right here on the bed?”

Castiel shook his head, another breathless moan escaping him.

“No… I did it on Gabriel’s couch… Ended up coming in one of his old sweaters…”

“You kinky bastard…” The thought alone seemed enough to drive Dean out of his mind. “What else did you do with it?”

“N—nothing…” Castiel groaned. “I only used it once, I— I forgot it in my gym bag the last day we met.”

“Where’s the gym bag now?”

“I left it in the trunk of my car.”

Dean stilled and Castiel wanted to scream out his frustration to the heavens, because he needed Dean to stop fooling around and _touch_ him already!

“So you’re saying—” Dean swallowed hard. “For fuck sake’s Cas, I held that bag in my hands…” He breathed in slowly, hands trembling against Castiel’s skin.

“I cleaned your car, inside out, and all that time your bag was sitting on my workbench,” he growled. “Your towel, your clothes; they were all right there, and I didn’t even—”

Suddenly he rolled them both over, Castiel coming out on top with a startled gasp with Dean’s mouth pressed against his belly button, feeling Dean’s lips slide even further down the second Castiel found his balance, bracing himself on all fours above the other man’s head.

“You remember what I told you?” Dean hissed. “That first day in the showers?”

“What?” Castiel asked, confused, but then the breath was stolen right out of his lungs when Dean’s hands suddenly tore open the buttons of his fly. Seconds later, there was just _heat_ ; wet and slick inside Dean’s mouth as lips wrapped around the head of his cock. He slumped down into his elbows with a panicked groan as Dean began to suck him off, tongue moving over him in skilled swipes and wicked slides of saliva, and yeah he remembered now, remembered it clear as day.

_I’d go down on you… Wrap my lips around you…_

“Tiger…!” he gasped, the name slipping out on pure reflex. Dean’s breath hitched, one of his hands coming down to grip around the base of Castiel’s dick as he pulled off.

“Yeah, you liked that name, didn’t you?” he purred. “Bet you used to scream it out loud when you jerked yourself off at night…” The wet tip of a tongue swiped out to lavish at the swell of Castiel’s balls and Cas whimpered, his hands fisting the sheets below him as he struggled to keep himself up despite the violent quake wreaking through his muscles.

“Or maybe you didn’t scream,” Dean thought out loud, “but I bet you used to whisper it into your pillow, struggling to keep your moans down not to wake your brother up when you slept on his couch… Poor Blue, always so loud… I can imagine how hard it must have been for you…”

The second hand left it’s splayed out position on Castiel’s thigh, and then there was a swift, metallic whisper from somewhere behind Castiel’s back. Castiel bent his neck to look down the length of his own body, coming face to face with the overturned view of Dean’s hand and mouth as they moved up and down his shaft, making him whimper again. He also saw how Dean’s other hand snaked it’s way inside Dean’s own boxers to pull his cock out, fisting it in rough strokes that matched the pace of Castiel’s own pleasure, making the want strike him like a fist to the gut.

“No,” he moaned, grappling at Dean’s hair for attention. “Turn around… Let me…”

Dean looked almost surprised at the offer, but he pulled off nonetheless, his mouth curling into a wicked grin that Castiel decided should be illegal.

Stripping out of their remaining clothes took close to no time at all, and soon, Castiel was kneeling over Dean’s midsection in a sixty-nine with the length of the other’s erection standing tall before his face. The musky smell of skin and arousal was thick in his nostrils as he dipped his head forward to lick at the tip in a slow, tentative sweep of his tongue, hearing and feeling Dean’s breath hitch against the inside of his thigh.

It looked just like he remembered it, he decided. The color was deeper, the touch softer and more velvety than the silicone surface of the toy he had been given all those weeks ago, but it was undoubtedly the same. The same perfect shape, causing the same waves of excitement to crash and ripple through his gut.

When he finally took it in his mouth, Dean moaned, the hands on the globe of Castiel’s ass squeezing in appreciation. Cas hummed, feeling the stretch of his jaw around the hard flesh as he moved in further, taking it deeper, feeling power surge through his body when Dean gasped hotly against the tip of his own arousal.

Then Dean’s mouth was  on him once more, and the world got lost in the feeling of mouths and tongues, the vibrations of moans and gasps echoing between the bedroom walls as the pleasure swallowed them up. Hands slid over skin while harsh breaths played over rough curls of hair. Touching, tasting, all there, at the very tip of their fingers, solid and _real_ in a way none of them would ever have dared to think about.

After a few minutes ( _seconds, years_ ) there was a tentative pressure against Castiel’s entrance, just the soft ghosting of a saliva soaked finger, asking his permission. He groaned, pushing back, because yes, yes he wanted it, wanted it in ways he hadn’t thought possible. Dean obliged, the digit returning to probe him gently, pushing past the first clench of resistance without hesitation, circling, giving Castiel plenty of time to accommodate the intrusion before pulling out and then returning, repeating the process once more, only slower. Oh God, so excruciatingly much slower.

Dean moved inside him with what Castiel suspected was intentional patience, just to tease him, but Castiel didn’t have the discipline it would take to withstand such a treatment, not tonight. He rocked back impatiently, groaning around the length in his mouth to make his point heard, but Dean simply ignored his protests with a warning nibble of teeth.

When Dean’s finger brushed against his prostate, however, there was no more room for discipline as Castiel let Dean’s flushed cock fall out of his mouth with a loud yelp. He grabbed hold of the other’s knee for support as his entire body went weak and limp in Dean’s arms, despite his valiant attempts to keep it upright.

He expected Dean to send him a sarcastic comment for his abrupt lack of physical posture, but to his surprise and slight panic, Dean simply circled a firm arm around his waist and pulled him even further down, deep throating him in one swift movement that had Castiel’s breath stuttering to a halt.

“Oh, that’s good…!” He choked, fingernails digging into the flesh of Dean’s calf. “Oh, Dean, that’s— _fuck…!_ ”

His encouraging groan turned into a sharp cry when the finger inside him suddenly picked up pace, fucking into him fast and ruthless. He feels Dean’s throat constrict around his cock in slow, controlled movements that shot zings of pure lightning up his spine in hot white flashes. He tried to get back up onto his knees to keep the other man from choking, but Dean’s arm simply tightened around him in response, locking him in place and refusing to let him go.

His head was spinning and he clawed desperately at Dean’s legs, feeling the orgasm draw nearer like a tidal wave. He tried, really tried to speak, to make Dean know what was about to happen and let him go, but Dean just hummed around his cock; adding more wicked sensation to the already brutal assault of his fingers. Cas gasped, fingers slipping from Dean’s leg to curl into the sheets, just to cling to _something_.

“Dean…!” he gasped, slurring his words in the rush to get them out. “Dean, wait I— Please, I haven’t done anything in like a week, I can’t— Oh, God… Oh, God, stop, you’re making me— Oh, _God…!_ ”

He felt Dean swallow around him, once, twice. His head fell against the mattress, his scream of release buried deep amongst white sheets as Dean milked his orgasm out with slow, calculated motions of his throat and finger, moaning shamelessly around him until Castiel simply couldn’t take it anymore.

He  made a final, weak attempt to escape, and this time Dean let him up, allowing him to flop down on his back by the other man’s side. As Castiel watched, Dean then wiped his own mouth with a lewd grin that Castiel would have found right down rude if he hadn’t been too busy trying to breathe.

His chest was heaving, his arms flung above his head, and his entire body felt like gelatin. He also had a fair suspicion that he could no longer feel his right foot, but at the moment he also couldn’t care less.

Beside him, Dean propped himself up on one elbow, looking at him with a smug grin.

“You still alive there?” he asked cockily. “Or did I accidentally kill you?”

“Death by fellatio…” Castiel panted, covering his eyes with his arm. “Now that’s something for the coroner’s office…”

Dean chuckled, low and throaty, and Cas didn’t even have to look to know that Dean was now touching himself, watching him from his end of the mattress. The fact that Dean still had an erection to play with reminded him about what the bastard had just done to him, and he swatted out a hand, punching the other hard on the upper thigh.

“I hate you,” he groaned, but Dean only chuckled, sitting up further.

“What?” he asked indignantly.

“That’s for not listening,” Castiel muttered. “And for making me come too soon.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Dean grinned. “ Don’t tell me you didn’t like it?”

“Why yes, you caught me, it was spectacularly unpleasant. Please never do that to me again,” Castiel snorted out sarcastically as he sat up. Dean smirked, running his hand slowly up and down his own cock as he watched Castiel reach across the bed to grab a pack of wet wipes from the bedside table, ducking away with a grin when Castiel then proceeded to playfully toss the box it at his face .

“You really haven’t jacked off in a week?” he asked, still grinning as he pulled a tissue out of the package, cleaning his fingers off. Castiel rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously, that’s pretty impressive,” Dean objected with a laugh and Castiel raised an eyebrow at him, leaning back on both his elbows.

“How often do you do it then?” he asked challengingly.

“Every chance I get.” Dean grinned, chucking the box and used tissue aside before slowly moving forward, crawling over Castiel’s sprawled out legs, a predatory glint sparkling within green eyes.

“So you see; my stamina is in mint condition...” he drawled, nudging Castiel’s knees even further apart with his own. ”…and I’m about flip you over and pound you into this mattress so hard there will be an imprint left for you to admire in the morning.”

Castiel shivered, leaning his head back when Dean’s mouth slowly came up to kiss its way up his chest and neck. Dean’s hands pushed him backwards and down onto his back once more, before they grabbed his shoulder, guiding him to roll over onto all fours with gentle pressure. Dean’s breath was hot against the back of his neck, lips peppering fluttering kisses all over his shoulder blades and up to his ear, hands encircling his waist from behind.

“You know, you’re more beautiful than I imagined you’d be…” Dean whispered. “I mean, of course I hoped you’d be hot, but this… Man, I never expected _this_ …”

Dean’s hands gripped tighter around him, the other’s hips thrusting lazily forward to press against his backside. Castiel hummed, reaching back to grab a firm hold of his lover’s thigh while keeping himself braced on one arm.

“Well, you have me now,” he purred, pressing himself back against Dean’s body. “So what was that you were saying about my mattress? Still wanna ruin it for me?”

In response, blunt nails raked down the front of his chest as Dean let out a low growl against his ear.

“Oh, you bet I do…”

“There’s lube in the left drawer.” Cas motioned to the bedside table with his head and the mattress beneath him dipped when Dean made his way over. He watched the muscles of the other man’s body play beneath the skin from the corner of his eye as Dean reached over and pulled the drawer out, grabbing the lube from within it.

“You want one of these too?” he asked, holding up a condom.

“Do we need one?” Cas retorted curiously, upon which Dean shook his head.

“Not that I know off,” he said firmly, “but it’s convenient, not to mention sanitary.” He tossed the pack onto the bed and closed the drawer, returning to his original position behind Castiel.

“Trust me, if I carried something I would tell you,” he added solemnly.

“I suspected no less, ” Cas answered, completely sincere. He trusted Dean, to the fullest, but when he heard the cap of the lube pop open behind him, his breath hitched nonetheless. Suddenly, it dawned on him what was about to happen here, what they were about to do, and he froze, his throat pulling tight.

“Dean…” he rasped.

“I know. I know… ”

Dean’s hand smoothed up the length of his back, slowly easing out the tension that had coiled in the muscles there.

“I’ll go slow,” he promised. Castiel nodded, gasping silently when he felt the slickened tip of Dean’s finger return to slowly push inside him.

One finger soon made way for a second, closely followed by a third. Castiel had not done anything like this to himself in several weeks, but his muscles still remembered how things worked, how to relax, even if he didn’t. Before the third finger had even found its way inside him, he was already slumped down onto his elbows, gasping and moaning into his fist while Dean worked him open, slow and tender, just like he had promised.

It was torture. Blissful, wondrous torture, and Castiel both hated and loved it at the same time. There was something about not being the one in the control, not being the one setting the pace that caused the nerves in his body to light themselves on fire, hypersensitivity flooding through his system like a drug.

“Dean…” he whimpered, rubbing his face against the pillow. “Dean, please…”

“I know,” Dean whispered, rubbing up and down Castiel’s back soothingly with his free hand. “I know… Just a bit longer, it’ll be worth it, I promise.”

Castiel nodded, choking back another moan as he arched his back, pushing back against the digits inside him.

When Dean finally pulled out, Castiel was already leaking, and Cas pulled a deep, shaky breath into his lungs when he felt the empty clench of muscles the other left behind. He remained where he was, panting against the sheets with his eyes closed, feeling the mattress shift as Dean moved himself into position, feeling his stomach pull together tight when he heard the whisper of foil being torn open behind his back.

“You ready?”

Dean’s voice was low, almost shy when it reached him, and Castiel nodded, his fingers tightening around the covers as he pushed himself up on all fours once more. He licked his lips, flinching slightly when he felt Dean’s cock press against him, the lube and rubber cold against his skin. He swallowed, clenching his eyes shut, and then the only thought in his head was to _breathe_ as he felt himself get breached, the girth of Dean’s erection pushing in and filling him up.

It was gentle, caring, but fuck, it was so _much_ , so overwhelming, and it was nothing like the dildo; didn’t even come close! The air rushed in and out of his lungs in short bursts, his head hanging down between his shoulders while his entire body shok, torn between wanting to escape this horrible tension and the desire to make it go faster, and God, he had not expected this!

The emotions were wrestling inside his chest, forming a thick lump in his throat. His head reeled, the steady touch of Dean’s hands on his hips the only thing anchoring him to reality as the seconds ticked by, every moment making it harder to stay in control. When he finally felt the jut of Dean’s hips press in against him, he slumped back down, releasing a pining sob into the pillows. Behind him, he heard Dean let out a long gush of breath in return, as if he had been holding it in this whole time.

“Hey…” Dean breathed, long fingers stroking up Castiel's spine, making him shiver. “Cas, you okay?”

Cas shook his head because no, he was not okay, not by a long shot.

“Move…” he winced. “Please, just _move…!_ ”

Any other man would probably have taken that response as a sign that their partner was hurting, but Cas knew that Dean would understand; put his very faith in it, because he didn’t posses the presence of mind to make it any clearer. Going by the way Dean’s fingers dug into his hipbone mere seconds later, Dean appeared to have interpreted his voice right.

After all, Tiger always did like it when he begged…

“For fuck’s sake, don’t say stuff like that…” Dean moaned. “I don’t wanna hurt you on accident.”

“Dean, I swear to God, if you don’t move right now—”

Castiel’s threatening growl was cut short when Dean suddenly pulled halfway out and then slammed back in, both their moans barely having time to mix together before he did it again, and yes, yes, just like that, that’s what he wanted, oh, Jesus, oh, God…!

“Fuck…!” Castiel gasped, hands wringing the sheets. “Oh, please, harder… Faster, Dean… Dean!”

The fingers on his lower back shot up to curl into the hair at the back of his head, dragging him up while the other hand set up a fast, punishing rhythm, pulling Castiel back by the hip to meet each of Dean’s thrusts. It was so good, so maddening good, and Dean was _inside_ _him,_ and it shouldn’t feel as overwhelming as it did, but Dean, _Dean…!_

He moaned, trying to hang his head back down. Dean allowed him, his hand letting go of the dark strands to grasp around Castiel’s shoulder instead.

“Feel exactly like I thought you would…” Dean growled “So tight around my cock, Cas… So fucking tight…”

Cas moaned again, a violent tremor rushing through him as he realized that Dean had _imagined_ this, that he had thought about the two of them together, just like this. The very idea spread fire through his limbs like a fever, his head practically swimming with it, causing his muscles to grow weak and give out beneath him.

Then Dean was suddenly gone, the feeling of loss immediate and cruel in the space where he had been. It only lasted a second, then the hand on Cas’s shoulder tightened and flipped him over, throwing him down onto the bed in a single, powerful motion. Cas blinked, panting hard with Dean’s face hovering over his, green eyes pinning him down more efficiently than any hands in the world ever could.

“Look at me, Cas…” Dean ordered, grabbing him around the knees, pushing them up. Castiel moaned, and his chest pulled tight when he felt Dean’s cock slowly begin to slide into him again, Dean’s eyes still not leaving his.

“I’ve waited so long to see you like this…” Dean breathed. “I wanna see everything…”

Castiel nodded, because yes, he understood, he understood and he wanted that too, he wanted to _see._ Dean grabbed hold of Castiel’s calf, lifting the leg up to rest it upon his own shoulder. Castiel followed, obediently placing his other leg on the opposite one as he felt Dean’s hips slot up even closer to his body, the size of him filling Castiel to the very core.

The pace changed after that. The rough, impatient pounding got replaced by slow, lazy thrusts along with deep, panting breaths as they rolled against each other; the muscles in Dean’s body coiling and relaxing with each wave of intoxicating pleasure he drove through Castiel’s limbs.

Castiel could barely keep his eyes open, struggling against the reflexes that wanted them to close. He wanted to _see_ ; wanted to relish in the way Dean’s brow drew together in concentration, the way his mouth fell open in silent gasps of breath, and how those thick eyelashes occasionally fluttered against sharp cheekbones, never fully closing, always watching right there with him.

The urge to toss his head back and bury the side of his face into the soft fabric of the pillow was overwhelming, but Dean’s eyes were holding him, keeping him locked in place. The sweat shone on their skin, making their hands slip and slide over sharp angles and tensed muscles, and it was so sweet, so hot, and so downright _filthy_.

Castiel was so hard again he ached, ready to let Dean do whatever he wanted with him as long as it meant that he would get to come like this, staring into Dean’s eyes just like this, watching Dean’s face change as he emptied himself inside him, and oh, God, he needed them to _move!_

Dean’s one arm was extended to brace himself against the mattress, the other running soothing strokes up and down the front of Castiel’s thigh, occasionally reaching down to massage and grope at his ass. The weight of his body and the power behind his hips caused Castiel’s back to lift off the mattress, his legs folding even deeper down over himself when Dean pressed in closer.

“Fuck, you never told me you were this flexible,” Dean moaned.

“You never asked,” Castiel panted back, managing a smile when Dean chuckled, giving his ass a hard squeeze.

“Do you remember… all those times I told you I was going to do this…?” Dean asked, catching Castiel’s eye again. “All the times I said I was going to fuck you just like this… Slow and dirty, really make you beg for me. You remember that?”

“I remember…“ Castiel nodded, eyelids fluttering, “I remember everything… Dean… Dean please, I’m so close…”

“Yeah you are, aren’t you?” Dean smirked. “Fuck, you know I love it when I make you come twice... And I’m gonna make you come so hard, Cas; gonna make you scream so loud, make your neighbors call the cops on us, would you like that?”

Cas knew for a fact that his neighbors wouldn’t hear a thing about what was going on in his apartment, because A; the walls were thick and made out of 90% concrete, and B; they were out of town, which he knew since they had asked him to keep a lookout on the place. But fuck, there was something about the possibility of anyone hearing them that pulled his thoughts back to all those evenings in the public showers; to the risk of having someone walk in on them. The memory flipped a switch inside his head and made him claw at Dean’s chest, bucking his hips up, and shit, he needed this faster, he needed _more_!

His hand reached down and found his cock in between their bodies, but he barely managed two full strokes before Dean’s fingers locked around his wrist and pinned it over his head, grabbing hold and providing his other arm with the same treatment a split second later.

“You impatient little bastard,” Dean whispered smugly, putting more of his weight on the legs flung over his shoulders as he continued to move in and out of Cas in slow, lazy thrusts.

“You know what I wanna hear, Cas…” he groaned. “I wanna hear you say it.”

One particularly hard thrust had Castiel’s eyelids slide close and he arched his back, clawing at the pillow beneath his head, rolling his hips up in a desperate attempt to find some sort of friction for the leaking cock that was smearing precome all over his stomach. It was unbearable, horrible, and so fucking wonderfully perfect, and he didn’t know whether to smile or weep when Dean’s cock started hitting his sweet spot over and over; as if the bastard had known what angle to use all along and simply avoided it on purpose.

“Say it…” Dean urged. “I can keep you on edge like this for as long as I want. C’mon, Cas… C’mon, say it, give it to me, you know you want to.”

“Dean…!”

“I haven’t heard it in so long… My blue eyed, virgin angel… Fuck…”

Castiel had always been able to tell when Dean was getting close, because the man always seemed to completely lose control of his own tongue when he was; the words seemingly spilling over his lips as soon as they popped into his head. Castiel had always wondered what Dean’s face would look like in that moment; all those fantasies of slack jaws and hazy eyes pushing him over the edge nearly every single time. Now, to finally see for himself the way Dean’s eyes glazed over with the same desperation Cas could feel within himself made it all so much better, so _real_.

He moaned, trying to use the leverage of his knees to lift himself higher, pulling Dean closer because he needed to _feel_ him against him, inside him, to make sure he was actually there. Once again, he marveled over how they had come to this, from two strangers tossing insults in a public shower to _this,_ and he needed, he _needed_ —  

“Fuck me…” he growled, his fingers curling demandingly around the edge of Dean’s hands as he locked eyes with the man above him, the sound of Dean’s hitched breath making his heart stutter in his chest.

“Dean, fuck me… I want it… I want it so badly, please…” He threw his head back, arching his body up.

“Please, please, _fuck me…!_ ”

His pleading growl abruptly turned into a shocked gasp when Dean slammed into him, harder than before, making him see stars. After that, the words in his throat got reduced into pure nonsense, because Dean didn’t _stop_ . He just kept on going, pounding into Castiel like an animal, and Jesus, sweet Jesus in heaven, oh, Jesus fucking _Christ…_

He looked down, and God help him, he could actually _see_ where the length of Dean’s cock pumped into him, pistoning in and out, and shit, he wouldn’t need to touch himself for this, he wouldn’t even need to _look_.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come…” he gasped and Dean groaned, his arms bending to let him slump further down, pressing his forehead against Castiel’s own.

Castiel’s right hand came up to clutch desperately around Dean’s biceps when Dean released the grip on his wrists, bringing his own hands up to card his fingers through Castiel’s hair instead. Their gazes locked, faces only a few inches apart, and Castiel was _burning_ , fire blazing from the inside out as the intensity of Dean’s eyes had him shaking. The intimacy was overwhelming, making him crave more and scaring the shit out of him at the same time, causing him to feel exposed and naked in a way that no lack of clothing could ever compare too.

His free hand scrambled for refuge on Dean’s torso, searching for a place to hold on as the tidal wave drew closer. His fingers slid across the sweaty surface of a clavicle, down an arm to eventually claw and grasp at Dean’s hand that was already curled against his temple, watching the world disappear within the green depths of Dean’s eyes as he his muscles locked up in near seizure.

His mouth fell open in a silent scream, the tendons in his neck tensing when the heat at the base of his spine flared up, whiting out his mind like a nuclear blast as he came hard all over his own chest. Dean was still moving, still thrusting, milking him dry until Castiel could barely breathe. Then Castiel felt Dean’s body tense, the other man’s hips shoving hard against the back of his thighs as Dean gasped out his name against the seam of their lips.

Dean’s head fell down, pressing hard against Castiel’s clavicle with a broken whimper that quickly morphed into a hoarse cry, and he spilled his release inside Castiel’s body with a series of hard, pulsating thrusts that shook Castiel to the very core. Castiel’s legs obediently splayed to the side as Dean then slumped down on top of him in a panting, groaning heap of shuddering muscles, his fingers flexing and twitching against the moist strands of Castiel’s hair.

Castiel had no idea how long they stayed like that; limbs tangled and hands folded over one another, breathing in each other’s air. It was blissful, and he wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, but was abruptly brought back to reality when the thumb of Dean’s hand slid out to gently caress the side of his cheek. He was both surprised and startled when he reached up and felt an already drying trail of tears coming from the corner of his eyes, and he quickly wiped them away, grateful that Dean had shown him the courtesy not to make a big deal out of it.

Dean just smiled at him, a crooked little twitch of lips before he straightened up to sit back onto his heels. Castiel felt how his back twinged in protest as the weight was slowly lifted off his body, and he winced when Dean pulled out of him, a burning ache replacing the faltering glow of pleasure that still lingered in his system.

Dean used more of the wet wipes to clean himself off before wordlessly returning with a handful new ones to tend to the mess on Castiel’s stomach and chest. Castiel slowly unfolded his body, stretching out and feeling the vertebraes in his back pop back into place, one by one in mute snaps. Then he laid back down, sprawling out on the bed with his eyes closed, relishing in the feeling of Dean’s hands smoothing up and down his chest.

“I think I’m going to need some help getting up,” he mumbled drowsily. Dean nodded, climbing out of the bed on still post-orgasm wobbly bow-legs before coming around, reaching hand out to help Castiel sit up and stagger to his feet.

Walking hurt, but not in a way that indicated injury. Just an aching combination of sore muscles and  tired limbs. Cas managed to get himself into the bathroom without assistance, even though Dean looked close to ashamed when he saw the grimace the first few steps caused to appear on Castiel’s face.

When Cas came back from the bathroom, having cleaned himself off properly, Dean was already in the middle of putting the sheet back in place over the bed. When Cas bent down to help him tuck the corners in around the mattress, he was rewarded with a sheepish smile, followed by a flirtatious wink that made a goofy grin appear on his own lips.

Later, when the bed was once again made and the room was lit up only by the faint slither of light that managed to sneak its way through the blinds from the buildings below, the two of them were more than willing to go to sleep. Castiel felt near exhausted, and a quick glance at the alarm clock on his bedside table explained why, confirming that it was indeed now almost four o’clock in the morning. Dean followed Castiel’s gaze when he climbed into the bed, throwing himself down onto his back with a snicker while folding his arms behind his head

“Guess this turned into a pretty long date, huh?”

Castiel couldn’t see the other’s grin in the dark, but he sure could _hear_ it. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, joining Dean under the covers with a snort.

“Try saying that again without sounding so smug about it,” he suggested, but Dean just laughed. Together they fell silent, lying on their backs beside each other on the bed.

They weren’t touching, even though they were lying close enough to feel the covers move in time with the rising and falling of the other’s chest. It wasn’t awkward lying like that. More like a silent, yet mutual decision. It felt familiar; the thin strip of white sheet between them substituting for a thick, ceramic wall that was no longer there to keep them separated, but that they both felt safety in keeping, just for a little while longer. They simply laid there, listening to each other breathe in the dark, allowing reality to sink in once more.

Castiel’s mind was buzzing with the memories of the many events that had filled the past hours. At first, he tried to sort them up, putting them in order and analyzing them, figuring out how all the pieces of this enormous puzzle fitted together. He soon gave up, however, deciding that he was fully content with the way things had turned out anyway, even without understanding exactly how. He sighed contently, closing his eyes against the dark around him.

“By the way,” he mumbled. ”If you ever tell Gabriel about what happened to his sweater, I’ll kill you.”

Next to him he heard Dean let out a low, disbelieving snort.

“You really think I’d sell you out to your big brother like that?” he asked.

“I think my brother would be able to lure it out of you, whether you intend it or not. Unless you’re given an ultimatum,” Castiel said knowingly.

“And what if he does that anyway?”

“Then the police will never find your body,” Castiel assured him grimly and Dean chuckled.

“My lips are hereby sealed,” he promised sincerely. Castiel felt the mattress shift as the other burrowed deeper into the pillow, a sigh of undisputable contentment rushing past his lips.

“So, it seems as if I was right all along then,” he declared proudly, and Castiel scowled.

“Right about what?”

“We really _are_ awesome at this.”

Castiel laughed, and on the other side of the bed, Dean joined him, the two of them too tired to care that the sentence hadn’t actually been meant as a joke. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or the insane flutter the sound of Dean’s laughter caused to rise in his stomach, or both, that made him ask what he did next.

“Would you like to come live here?”

“What?” Dean chuckled, his laugh faltering slightly. Cas bit down on his tongue, cursing his lack of social timing as his thoughts scrambled to find the right words to explain his idea.

“Sam said— Or rather, Sam told Gabe, and Gabe told me, that you’ve been living at Bobby’s since you got fired,” he rambled. “I was just thinking… You know, this apartment really is too big for just one person anyway, and I though that in case you wanted to— Like, it doesn’t have to be permanent, but if you’d like we could… I don’t know, give it a try?”

“Live here?” Dean sounded completely dumbfounded, the question understandably having caught him off guard. “You mean as in… move my stuff in and everything?”

“If you want,” Castiel nodded, fingers curling into a tight fist on top of his chest as he held his breath. Of course he _knew_ that it was a stupid question to ask, and he _knew_ that even though they had known each other for such a long time, it still wasn’t the same as knowing each other well enough to _live_ together. There was nothing he could do about it, though;  the question was out there now, and he couldn’t take it back.

“Huh…” Dean said, falling silent. Castiel was thankful for the fact that Dean couldn’t see him where he was, heart banging a racing staccato against his ribs, causing a near sweat to break out over his skin. The covers stretched as Dean turned over to lie on his side, facing him with his head propped up in one hand.

“Do I get a drawer for my clothes?” he asked and Castiel let out a shocked laugh.

“Dean, I’ll give you the entire _closet_ ,” he declared loudly.

“And a shelf in the bathroom?” Dean sounded as if he was _haggling_ , but whatever technique he was using, Castiel sure as hell didn’t understand how it worked. At the moment, Dean could have asked him for practically _anything_ and Cas would have agreed, even if he had to forfeit his own personal belongings in order to give it to him.

“Left cupboard, take it, it’s yours,” he deadpanned and Dean laughed, falling back against the pillows once more.

“Home…” he said, as if tasting the word, and Castiel resisted the urge to punch his fist into the air in a completely uncharacteristic, stereotypical display of accomplishment, settling with simply grinning widely from ear to ear instead.

“There’s just one thing,” Dean suddenly added and Castiel stilled.

Was there going to be some kind of ultimatum to this? Something with the rent maybe? Of course, Dean was out of a job, so he wasnt exactly wealthy at the moment, but Cas had already assumed as much. Or did Dean want Cas to do something else?

He remained silent, waiting intently while Dean leaned in and pressed his forehead against his, their noses touching. Castiel noted that Dean seemed to like doing that, for some reason, and he welcomed it with all his heart. Was this going to be a ‘thing’ for them? Like, a couple’s ‘thing’? The thought alone made his heart race with near painful excitement in his chest, but then he was quickly pulled back to reality and the matter at hand when Dean spoke again.

“For the first month,” Dean said solemnly, “you will not under any circumstances be allowed to take a shower without me. Unless, of course, it’s an emergency, like, if you spontaneously catch on fire, or something. Or I’ll make sure Gabriel recieves an anonymus letter regarding a certain _missing_ article of his wardrobe.”

Castiel could honestly never remember a time where he had been so happy to be blackmailed before in his life. His body went limp, sinking into the mattress in relief as he descreetly let out the breath he had been holding.

“Agreed,” he smiled. “Am I to assume that I’ll get to extract a similar vengeance upon you, should you not shower with me?”

“Of course,” Dean promised, and Castiel—simply because he had to let some of the ridiculously bubbly feeling inside his chest out before he burst open like a piñata—pulled Dean into a kiss that lasted long enough to make them both gasp for air when they finally came apart.

None of them said anything else after that and the bedroom sank into a soft, comfortable silence that made Cas think of warm blankets, hot tea, and sleepy afternoons on the couch.

Turning on his side, he slid his arm underneath the pillow, propping it up so that he could rest his head on it more comfortably while holding on to the top with his other hand. Yes, Castiel hugged his pillow while he slept, Gabriel had pointed this out thousands of times in the past, but it wasn’t as if Castiel had any plans to change because of it. It was comfortable, and he couldn’t sleep on his back, there was just no way, not even with Dean lying right next to him.

He had already begun to drift off to sleep when he felt a tentative touch against his hand as Dean reach up to hook his index-and middle finger around Castiel’s own. It was an odd little sentiment, like handholding, yet not, and Castiel found that he liked it, squeezing the fingers in return just as the rest of Dean’s body slotted up behind him, a strong arm wrapping around Castiel’s waist and pulling him in tight, sighing quietly.

The last thing that went through Castiel’s mind before he fell asleep, was the familiar image of a wall; a gridded pattern of white tiles filling up his field of vision in a never-ending stretch. A frustrating manifestation of constraint and limitations. As the feel of warm lips leaned in to press a single, firm kiss against the back of his shoulder blades, he imagined the wall cracking before his eyes, sending it crumbling to the ground in a pile of rubble and broken shards of ceramics.

He sighed, snuggling deeper against the firm body behind him, smiling when he felt Dean’s two fingers tighten their grip around his in return, just before the velvety dark of exhaustion took him over. He slept, safe and content, with the quiet warmth of Dean’s breath playing over his skin like the loving caress of an angel’s feather.

It did, indeed, feel like home…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading guys, I really hope I managed to do this one justice.
> 
> Please feel free to leave me a comment on your thoughts and opinions <3
> 
> Until next Thursday! ^^


	13. 13

When Dean woke up, he knew that it was bright outside before he even opened his eyes.

There was a crisp chill in the air and he instinctively pulled the covers tighter around himself, not really wanting to wake up just yet. Though, whatever objections his brain might have had towards awakening, they were quickly swept under the rug when he felt the firm bulk of muscles that pressed back against his chest when he moved. 

He dragged in a slow breath through his nose, soaking in the scent of warm skin as he nuzzled closer to the man before him. He could still catch a whiff of Blue’s shampoo; that familiar hint of spices and something that reminded him of cinnamon filling up his nostrils, causing his stomach to do a giddy little flip as he buried his face amongst the tiny hairs at the back of Castiel’s neck.

His right arm was still firmly circled around the other male’s torso and he tightened his grip, his lip twitching up when he heard Castiel sigh and snuggle back even harder in response. Now, some people, like his brother, were under the impression that Dean was what you would have called an anti-cuddler, but the truth was that Dean had nothing against cuddling. In fact, he found it to be a rather pleasant activity. He did, however, have certain reservations about letting others—like his previously mentioned brother— _ know  _ that he enjoyed it. Given Dean’s otherwise macho exterior it was needless to say that the teasing would never end…

Still, no matter how much he would have liked to stay there with his arm tight and snug around the remarkably sexy man in his arms, he could feel his neck and back begin to ache the more awake he became. After a few minutes, his left shoulder was damn near killing him.

Slowly, to make sure he wouldn’t wake Cas up, he began uncurling his body from the other man’s frame. After a little wiggling and worming he managed to successfully free himself without causing too much of a fuss, even though Castiel gave a low, displeased grunt when Dean moved away from him to lie down onto his back with a relieved sigh. 

The headboard of Castiel’s bed towered above him and Dean soon found his eyes tracing the lines of handcrafted wood in quiet marvel over the details put into the work. 

The headboard itself was quite simple; at first glance looking like a roughly shaped, unevenly squared piece of wood that had been attached to the frame of the bed, but on closer inspection, this degrading description turned out to be completely false. The headboard was square shaped, absolutely, but half an inch in, all the way along the edge, there were these small, barely there little carvings, forming a complicated pattern of branches that weaved together with the material so perfectly they almost looked like they had grown straight out of the wood. 

There was  _ thought _ in there, even though it appeared to have been created by mere coincidence, but once you looked closer, it was evidently clear the plan had been there from start to finish, disguised in chaos. He reached up, gingerly sliding his fingertips along the wood and as he suspected, the texture was completely smooth against the pad of his fingers, not a chip or splinter anywhere within his reach. It was perfect.

Did Cas really make this all by himself?

He glanced at the man by his side, followed the firm muscle of the Castiel’s back and arms down to where they disappeared beneath the covers, and suddenly, the thought didn’t feel as foreign. He had felt the strength behind those hands for himself, and he had no doubt in his mind that Cas was not only able to put the bed together, but also to drag the whole thing up the thirteen flights of stairs from the ground and into the apartment, all by himself.

He glanced up at the headboard again and made a quick re-evaluation. Castiel might be  _ willing  _ to move the bed, yes, but capable? Not a chance in the seven planes of hell. The bed was solid oak and probably weighed a ton. How the hell  _ had _ he gotten it up here? Teleportation? 

He threw a suspicious look at Castiel, scowling. Full of mystery he was, that guy… Definitely more than met the eye, for sure. Dean should know, considering…

Fuck, just to think that all along— Wait, how long was it really? A week since they saw each other in the flesh for the first time, maybe? Or was it even less? It felt as if they had been dancing around each other for months, years, and knowing that Cas had been aware who he was all that time…

He expected the thought to make him angry, but it didn’t. Instead, he felt a twinge of sorrow thinking about all the time they could have spent together instead of wasting time on some stupid act to keep up appearance. 

It was a strange feeling, because normally he would never have been able to let such a thing go. If there was one thing he couldn’t tolerate, it was when people lied to him, but with Cas… Damn, last night he had looked so scared, so absolutely terrified and at the same time so… calm. As if he had already accepted that Dean would never want to see him again. 

That expression had  _ hurt _ ; had literally cut into Dean’s very soul, and now, in the aftermath of everything, Dean wished that he hadn’t reacted as harshly as he had the night before. The shock had caused most of it, really… Then again, he had every right in the world to be shocked. It’s wasn’t every day that your date turned out to be your long lost… whatever it was he and Cas had been before.

He realized that Castiel must have found himself in such an incredibly awkward situation back there, especially since Dean knew how the other man struggled with social interaction. As Blue had said himself once during their meetings; his ‘people skills’ were ‘rusty’, and Dean could understand why Cas had been so scared of coming clean. Crossing the line between casual sex and dating was tricky enough as it was, and their situation was more than just a little bit too unique to be handled the old fashioned way.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Dean had been some kind of brave knight in shining armor either; sneaking around, trying to stealth his way through their entire date when he could just as well have asked the man straight up and gotten it all over with. Like he had told Cas the night before, they were both equally to blame for this mess. He really had no right to stay mad and pissed at Cas simply out of principle. 

Thinking about it further, was there really any point in staying angry? Was it worth risking screwing this up all over again, just to prove a point, or should he just check it all off as a huge misunderstanding and actually give this new,  _ real  _ thing with Cas a shot?

The last alternative was without a doubt far more tempting than the first… 

He was startled out of his thoughts by a sudden whirr coming from somewhere below the foot of the bed, and the vibration was immediately followed by the crude notes of the electric guitar that just happened to be his ringtone. 

Dean scrambled forward, trying to be as quick and quiet as possible as he located and hauled his jeans in to fiddle the phone out of his back pocket, answering the call before the noise managed to wake Cas up.

“What?” he hissed into the receiver, and was met with a surprised snort and a laugh.

_ “And a good morning to you too.”  _

Sam. Of course it was Sam.

“Hi, Sammy…” he groaned, rubbing his hand across his face.

_ “Man, you sound tired,” _ Sam remarked. _ “Don’t tell me you’re still in bed?” _

Dean threw a quick glance at the sleeping Castiel over his shoulder.

“Actually I am,” he admitted quietly. “Listen, I can’t talk right now, I’m sort of in the middle of something here.” 

There was a short, stunned silence from the other end of the line.

_ “On the first date, Dean?” _ Sam snorted.  _ “Really?” _

“Technically it isn’t a first date,” Dean objected. “We— Cas and I sort of know each other from before,” he admitted, thinking that Sam was bound to find out sooner or later anyway. Why not screw around with his pain in the ass little brother when he got the chance?

_ “What?” _ Sam frowned, much to Dean’s expectations.  _ “You told me you met the guy for the first time a few days ago.” _

“Well, I lied.” 

Remarkable, Sam’s bitch-face could be heard even through the phone.

_ “Dean, what’s going on?” _ his younger brother demanded testily.

“Nothing’s going on. Not like that anyway.” Dean objected. “By the way, do you know if my stuff’s still boxed up in Bobby’s garage?”

_ “Not unless you’ve moved it yourself,”  _ Sam grumbled.  _ “But why—” _

“I’m moving in with Cas.”

For a moment there he thought his brother had actually dropped the phone, but when Sam’s voice eventually sounded through the speaker it was low, steady, and unsettlingly calm.

_ “Come again?” _ he asked politely. Dean rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“I’m moving in with him, Sam.”

_ “Am I hearing this right, or is there something wrong with your phone? You’re  _ what? _ Why?” _

“I don’t have time to explain it, okay. I already told you, I  _ really _ can’t talk right now. If you want the full scoop, you can ask Gabe.”

_ “Gabe?” _ Sam repeated, sounding as if he had never even heard of the man before.

“Yes,  _ Gabe _ . You know, the sugar-addict you’re sleeping with?” Dean shot back, not caring about how the snappy tone caused Sam to do a verbal eye roll in response.

_ “Alright, jeez, I’ll ask him, take it easy…”  _

“Great. I’ll talk to you later.” 

_ “Fine, but I still want to know how—” _

Dean hung up the phone with an annoyed snort, and as a second thought he also turned the device off, just in case his brother would be struck by the brilliant idea of calling him back.

He reached for his jeans, intending to put the phone back in his pocket, but then he seemed to change his mind, and carefully placed it on the bedside table instead. It looked good, he decided, as if it belonged there. He let out a pleased little huff before he rolled over onto his side, coming face to face with Castiel’s wide-open, bright blue eyes.

“Jesus Christ!” 

Luckily for him, Castiel’s bed was wide enough to prevent him from actually falling out of the damn thing and down onto the floor. He did, however, bang his elbow into the sturdy bedside table when he jerked back, wincing out an annoyed curse between gritted teeth as he rubbed the injured limb with his other hand. It hurt, but not as much as the realization that he had just efficiently erased every shot he had at acting cool about waking up in another man’s bed. 

On the other side of the mattress, Castiel looked at him with his brow raised in surprise, as if asking if this morning routine of Dean’s to demolish the interior before he got out of bed were to be expected in the future. When Dean looked up to meet the other man’s gaze he saw the corner of Cas’s lip pull up in a near invisible smile.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, and holy mother— Just when Dean thought that voice could not possibly get any hotter, the bastard had to go and add some sleepy morning gravel into the mix!

“I’m fine,” he groaned, his heart still working on the nearest escape route out of his chest. “Fuck, Cas, don’t sneak up on me like that. You scared the crap out of me!”

Castiel snorted, wordlessly conveying that he thought Dean was clearly overreacting. Dean was just about to open his mouth and give a sarcastic response to that when the other man casually reached out and grabbed hold of his arm with tender fingers. Leaning forward, Cas then proceeded to give Dean’s elbow an apologetic kiss, before moving up to place another, slower one on his lips, efficiently vaporizing all thoughts of sarcasm right out of his mind. 

Dean breathed out a content sigh, but just as he was about to deepen the kiss further, Cas pulled away with a low hum, leaving Dean’s blood practically seething with unrequited arousal in his veins. Where the hell had the bastard learned to kiss like that anyway? 

“So, how did your brother take the news?” Castiel asked, and c’mon, the guy didn’t even sound breathless! How was that fair?

“Like he takes all news; with a thousand questions,” Dean answered, still intensely focused on the pad of the thumb that was still swiping over the soft skin on the inside of his elbow. 

“I sent him to Gabe. I’m sure he’ll be able to freak my brother out enough to make him want to forget he ever asked. Hope you don’t mind?”

Castiel chuckled, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry. Gabriel wouldn’t have been able to keep his mouth shut for much longer anyway.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Dean grinned. He moved forward, crowding Castiel against the headboard of the bed, growling playfully into the crook of his neck as he rolled them over, coming out on top of the man in his arms.

“I take it this means you’re really moving in then?” Castiel asked, a pleased glimmer flickering behind his eyes. Dean nodded.

“I was thinking we could maybe pick up my stuff today, if that’s okay with you? It’s all boxed up and ready to go, and there’s no furniture. My last place was one of those interior included kind of rentals.”

“Oh, thank god,” Castiel breathed out, visibly relieved. “I was afraid we would end up hauling couches and bookshelves up the stairs all day.”

“Sorry.” Dean shrugged. “Seems like we’ll have to come up with something else to pass the time.”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Castiel mused. Then, as if he had been able to do it the whole time, he hooked his leg around Dean’s knee and twisted, using that hidden strength of his to roll them around, straddling Dean across the thighs with an evil smirk. He stayed there for only a few seconds before he—to Dean’s huge disappointment—resolutely climbed off, leaving Dean flat on his back, all alone in the big bed.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Dean objected, throwing his hands out to the sides in protest.

“I was thinking breakfast, seeing as it’s been almost sixteen hours since we ate,” Castiel suggested soberly. As if on cue, Dean’s stomach gave a loud rumble that probably could have been heard all the way to the Netherlands.

“See?” Cas said, raising a brow at him. “I don’t know what you usually have for breakfast, but I have some eggs and bacon, and there might be a slice of pie left in the—”

“Pie?” Dean sat up, suddenly wide awake.

“I had a feeling you’d be interested in that,” Castiel smirked, pulling open the left sliding door of the closet that covered the entire wall opposite from the bed. “It’s blueberry, but if I recall correctly, flavor never really was your biggest concern?”

“Hey, if it starts with a ‘p’ and ends with an ‘ie’, I’ll eat it.” Dean grinned, climbing out of the bed to track down his own clothes, starting with his boxer shorts.

“Figured as much,” Castiel smiled, proceeding with retrieving a new pair of underwear from a nearby drawer. As he did so, he pushed the sliding door even further away, revealing a row of suits and shirts hanging neatly on the other side.

“Now, that’s one hell of a closet,” Dean remarked. “You must own a shitload of clothes.”

“Not really,” Castiel snorted, pulling a plain, grey t-shirt over his head. “I only use this side; the other one’s still empty.”

“So that’s the side I’m going to use?”

“If you don’t mind?” Castiel shot back with a laugh, making Dean smirk.

“Oh, I don’t, believe me.” 

He watched as Castiel dragged a pair of old, ragged jeans out of the bottom half of the closet, pulling them on. Dean could see a patch of his leg peeking through a hole on the left knee, and for some reason, that little hint of skin made Dean’s fingers flex sharply against the fabric of his own trousers. He forced himself to look up, swallowing when he saw the muscles of Castiel’s back flex as he straightened up to zip up his jeans.

“It’s a shame,” he declared solemnly, making Cas glance at him with a brow raised.

“What is?”

“That you have to hide that sexy body of yours underneath those boring suits all day.”

“It’s part of my job,” Castiel snorted. “And I’m not sexy,” he added firmly.

“Are you kidding me?” Dean asked, pulling his jeans up to his waist. “Had you worn what you’re wearing right now that day at Singer’s Salvage, I would have thrown you across the hood of your car whether I thought you were Blue or not.”

He expected there to be some sort of sly remark or comment to that one, but when none came he looked up from the task of buttoning his fly, finding Castiel looking down at the floor, a furious red blush covering the back of his neck.

“What?” Dean asked, suddenly worried. “What did I say?”

“Nothing, I was just… About Singer’s Salvage…” Cas began, turning around to face him. “Dean I— I’m sorry for not telling you who I was right away. It was stupid, and I don’t know how I’ll ever—”

“You don’t have to apologize, Cas,” Dean interrupted, stepping closer. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Dean…”

“Hey, I said it doesn’t matter,” Dean scolded softly, stepping up to place his finger against Castiel’s mouth when the other opened it to speak once more. “We both acted like idiots, and I’m sorry that I didn’t push harder to find out who you were before last night. But everything’s good now, and I don’t want to hear you apologize for something that you didn’t do, is that clear?”

“You’re not mad?” Castiel asked, twisting his lips away from Dean’s finger.

“I was.”

Dean pursed his lips, scowling slightly. 

“Alright, I might be a bit mad about it still, but it doesn’t really make a difference, because I’m actually more mad at myself than I am at you.” He looked down Castiel’s covered torso and grinned, lowering his finger to slide it down the centre of the other’s chest. “But hey, if you still feel bad about it, you are perfectly free to pay me back with your body later...”

Cas swatted Dean’s finger away with a light glare, but shortly after, he reached out and grabbed Dean behind the neck, pulling him in for a hard kiss. It was a kiss that said that even though he did  _ not _ approve of it, he was still willing to momentarily drop the subject for Dean’s sake.

“Man, you’re stronger than you look,” Dean gasped when the other man finally released him. “In that trench coat I could have sworn you looked close to scrawny.”

“Well, it’s an old coat,” Cas admitted. “I bought it when I first started working at the office and I couldn’t afford tailored clothes back then. I’ve been thinking about buying a better one.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Dean objected, making Cas frown before continuing. “That trench coat is the sexiest, weirdest turn-on I’ve ever had in my life. You’re keeping it.” 

He grinned, giving Cas a quick kiss on the lips before stepping back to pick the rest of his clothes up from the floor.

“Hey, you think I can borrow a sweater or something? Mine seem to be missing a few buttons.” He dangled his shirt from the tip of his index finger, revealing that there was in fact, no buttons attached to the garment at all. 

“Oh…” Cas blinked sheepishly, recalling  _ how _ exactly those buttons had gone missing. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry; you can rip my clothes apart any time you want. Perhaps not in public though,” Dean added thoughtfully. Cas snorted, turning back towards the closet.

“I’ll try to contain myself,” he promised, tossing another t-shirt at Dean, who caught it just before it hit him square in the face.

“Just take it easy, you might pull something,” Dean chided back, but Castiel just smiled and walked ahead of him out of the bedroom.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The pie, as it turned out, was probably the most delicious piece of pastry Dean had ever tasted in his life. Every bite was like a miniature orgasm inside his mouth, the flavors exploding on his tongue in bursts of absolute bliss, and he groaned, leaning back against Castiel’s kitchen counter with his face tipped towards the ceiling.

“This,” he said, pointing to the plate in his hand with the tip of his fork, “should be illegal.”

“Don’t you think we’ve been breaking the law enough as it is?” Castiel retorted from the other side of the kitchen, making Dean snort.

“Not enough for this,” he objected. “Man, I’d sell my soul for a lifetime’s supply of these.” He scooped up another piece of the pie in front of him. “Where did you buy it, anyway?”

“That depends on what you mean by ‘buying’,” Castiel answered, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Most of it comes from the local supermarket, but the blueberries came from this girl at work who gets them from her grandmother’s farm a few miles out of town.”

Dean stilled, staring at the other man with the tip of the fork halted about an inch away from his mouth.

“Wait, so you mean…?” He pointed at the plate and then at Castiel, who nodded quietly.

“Damn…” Dean breathed. “You never told me you could cook?” he said, almost accusingly.

“You never asked,” Castiel answered calmly, eyes gleaming mischievously over the edge of his coffee cup. Dean had to practically brace himself in order not to walk over and downright molest the other man right there against the stove.

“Well then, prepare for kitchen duty, Cinderella, because you’re doing this again.” He grinned and Castiel rolled his eyes to the ceiling, his lip pulling up in a smile as he turned around to rummage through a cupboard behind him. Dean watched him reach up to grab something from the top shelf, the t-shirt tightening over his shoulders as he did so. 

God, he was beautiful. All lean muscles and taut skin… And those eyes of his… The guy sure hadn’t been kidding when he said he had special eyes; Dean had never seen such a shade of blue in his life. It was almost eerie the way they seemed to lock onto him, seeking his own eyes out like magnets pulling him in. To think that this was what had been hiding behind that stupid shower wall all this time made Dean’s heart race inside his chest. 

He had imagined it before, of course, what his mystery lover would look like, but the fantasies in his head could never have prepared him for what reality had in store for him. The sight of Castiel’s body was absolutely breathtaking, and Dean’s fingers were literally itching to explore the smooth planes and sharp angles of it further as soon as he got a chance. 

However, as intriguing as it may be, the other man’s body was not the biggest reason as to why Dean currently felt as if he had just taken a gulp out of the most sickeningly sweet love potion in existence.

It was the other, million, ridiculously  _ tiny _ things that did the trick. Like the way Cas’s head slowly tilted to the side when he looked at him, or the way his eyes squinted in confusion whenever Dean said something he didn’t understand. In the way his fingers closed around the coffee cup, in that little crook at the corner of his mouth that appeared when he thought Dean was being funny, but didn’t want to let Dean know about it… 

To finally be able to see it all; to learn which expressions and postures went with which tone of voice was just mind-blowing. Dean was more than certain he would be able to stand there all day, just watching Cas do absolutely nothing at all, because damn, he never thought he’d get to have this… Not this close…

“So when do you want us to go get your things?” Castiel asked, still with his back turned against him, and Dean was ripped out of his musings with a confused intake of breath. 

“Oh… Uh, yeah I was thinking… I mean, you don’t have to come along unless you want to?” he mumbled quietly, but Castiel waved him off.

“Of course I’m coming with you,” he snorted. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until your things are safe and sound in my hallway. Can’t risk you changing your mind on me, can I? Besides,” he added, closing the cupboard firmly. “Two cars are better than one.”

Well, two cars were undoubtedly better, Dean couldn’t argue there. He watched Castiel smear some butter over the two slices of rye bread he had retrieved from the cabinet, and he gnawed at his bottom lip, glancing down at the pie in his hands.

“Hey, you want some of this?” He offered the plate to the other man, but Castiel shook his head.

“No, thank you. I’m not very fond of sweets in the morning.”

“Dude, it’s almost midday,” Dean objected, thrusting the plate into Castiel’s hands. “Here, you shouldn’t have to eat some dry pieces of bread when there’s stuff like this available.”

“Really, I’m not a breakfast person,” Cas tried, but when Dean just gave him a firm glower in response, Castiel looked down at the pie and sighed.

“I take it I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” he asked in resignation.

“Not really,” Dean confirmed. He grabbed the fork from the plate and dug off a generous chunk of the pie, holding it up to Castiel’s mouth. “Open up,” he coaxed. 

Castiel glanced down at the food before him, almost looking as if he was about to frown at it, but then his eyes slowly slid up to meet with Dean’s own, hips lips parting. The tip of his tongue moved to curl around the edge of the fork as he leaned forward to take the pastry into his mouth. His lips closed around the prongs and he pulled back with just enough of a suckle to force Dean into tightening his grip around the cutlery in his hand, a lewd glint sparking somewhere behind those blue orbs when Dean drew a slow, shaky breath at the display given to him.

“Satisfied?” Castiel asked, wiping a few crumbs off his lip with his thumb and innocently sucking the digit into his mouth.

“Not even close…” Dean breathed, before he moved in to plant a hard kiss over the other’s lips, moaning at the flavors of coffee, pie and Castiel that seemed to mix together at the tip of his tongue. God, he wished every morning could taste like this…

Castiel mumbled something incoherent into the kiss, pushing gently at his shoulder, and Dean pulled back with a reluctant huff.

“What?” he grumbled impatiently.

“I said; we should probably brush our teeth,” Castiel answered, laughing when Dean deflated a little. He reached up to give him a small, apologetic peck at the corner of his mouth. “As much as I enjoy kissing you, I’d rather do it with a clean mouth.”  

“I don’t have a toothbrush...” Dean muttered, suddenly embarrassingly focused on not breathing out too much through his mouth as he spoke, but Castiel just smiled.

“You can borrow mine,” he promised. He pushed Dean to the side, handing him the plate with the pie back before he winked and gave Dean’s ass a slow, but affectionate squeeze. 

“Now finish your breakfast and then we’ll go get your things before you develop any nasty second thoughts.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Dean assured him. “That’s not very likely.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

When they got to Singer’s Salvage, Cas realized that they would probably have done just fine with only one car after all. Dean’s possessions didn’t take up more space than a few boxes, consisting mostly of clothes, books and a large stack of vinyl records. Since Castiel didn’t have a garage, they decided to leave all of Dean’s tools in Bobby’s workshop, and after only an hour’s time, they had efficiently gathered all of Dean’s belongings and packed them into the cars, all under the watchful eyes of Bobby himself.

The old man hadn’t said much to Castiel during their visit, something that made Cas more than a little nervous. Dean had assured him that Bobby was a man of very few words and that he shouldn’t worry about it, but that didn’t exactly help his nerves much.

“If Bobby doesn’t like you, then he’ll let you know,” Dean had promised. “He’s never been one for sugarcoating.”

It wasn’t much of a comfort, to be honest, but Cas figured that as long as he behaved himself and stayed out of the way, he wouldn’t end up on anyone’s bad side, so he let the subject drop. 

It didn’t take long for him to understand where Dean had gotten his fondness of sarcasm from as he stood by, watching the two men toss insults and witty comments at each other while Dean rummaged through the house in search of his belongings. They weren’t rude to each other, but almost every word was laced with just a little bit of an edge, just enough to keep the other person on their toes. Beneath each snappy response there was also a fondness that Cas suspected was the two men’s way of saying that they cared, without actually having to come out and say it. It wasn’t exactly hard to figure out that the word ‘idiot’ (or ‘idjit’) held a completely different meaning here than what he himself was used to. 

Castiel couldn’t really remember what having a father was like. His own had been distant and non-present most of the time, and when the old man had eventually left, never to return, the family had been stuck with Michael. Which, needless to say, hadn’t exactly been an improvement... 

Castiel couldn’t help but think that had he been given the chance, he would have liked a relationship like the one Dean seemed to share with Bobby Singer. They were so relaxed around each other, their mouths flying off every other second, just speaking their minds without having to guard their words in fear of repercussion. It reminded him about himself and Gabriel, which of course made sense, seeing as Gabriel was the only real family Cas had ever known.

Bobby hadn’t seemed to mind the fact that his adoptive son was moving in with another man, but as of now, when Cas and Bobby were standing outside while Dean disappeared back into the house to get the last box from upstairs, it was with a spiking chill to his gut that Cas realized that perhaps the older man didn’t actually  _ know _ anything about Dean’s sexual orientation?

He might think that Cas had offered Dean the option to move in with him as a friend, and Castiel tensed up, shooting the other a look from the corner of his eye, suddenly feeling more anxious and out of place than he had in months.

On the other hand, Bobby might be fully aware of the situation, but wasn’t interested in talking about it. Or—God, please no—what if he was one of those people who’d rather live in denial than recognize their children’s lifestyle? 

Castiel’s stomach drew tight as a future of being referred to only as “Dean’s roommate”, or “Dean’s friend” flashed before his eyes, lined with uncomfortably silent family dinners which he would barely be allowed to attend.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the gravel beneath his shoes stirring obnoxiously loud. He could feel Bobby’s gaze land on him like a ton of bricks, and his mind struggled to come up with something to say to break the suddenly awkward silence between them. His mouth opened and he drew for breath before he had even decided on a topic. He didn’t get far before Bobby interrupted him.

“So, Castiel, was it?”

Cas immediately shut his mouth and nodded.

“Castiel Novak, sir,” he mumbled. Oh, dear lord, he felt like a teenager on prom night, sitting in the living room at another family’s house while facing a highly uncomfortably questioning by the date’s father; the mandatory assurance of having Dean back before midnight being the only thing missing.

“You think you’ve got what it takes to handle him, son?” Bobby asked, nodding towards the house. Castiel followed his gaze to the door from where Dean was bound to reemerge any second now.

“I believe so,” he confirmed, trying to sound assertive, and Bobby nodded wisely.

“If he gets cranky, just give him something that makes a lot of noise when it breaks, and he’ll be fine. Then again…” he added, tipping his cap in Castiel’s direction. “…I assume you’ve already worked out a few tricks of your own, going by those bruises I saw on his neck.”

Castiel almost choked on his own tongue, his eyes quickly relocating themselves to the ground by his feet.

“I wasn’t—“ he stuttered, cutting himself off to clear the nervous squeak from his throat. “I didn’t know whether Dean told you—” 

“He doesn’t have to  _ tell _ me anything,” Bobby snorted. “This is the first time I’ve seen him smile for over a month and with the way he keeps looking at you… Well, let’s just say his poker face could use some work.”

Castiel nodded, swallowing hard.

“I see…” He looked up quickly, trying to decide whether Bobby was telling him this as a threat or a statement, but the old man’s face was unreadable. “Mr. Singer, sir, I—” 

“Son, if you ‘sir’ me one more time, so help me, I will lay you across my knee as the grown man you are.”

Castiel’s mouth shut with a mute snap, almost snipping at the tip of his tongue in the process, while Bobby rolled his eyes to the sky.

“Just call me Bobby. I save the ‘Mr. Singer’ for the people I don’t like.”

“Oh.” Castiel blinked dumbly, his mind drawing a temporary blank before the sound of heavy boots headed their way pulled his attention back to the house. His shoulders slumped with relief when he spotted Dean coming down the hallway through the open door.

“Hey,” Bobby gruffed and Castiel looked up. 

“Don’t let him boss you around,” Bobby said solemnly. “Dean needs someone to keep his head out of the clouds from time to time, so don’t be afraid to take charge if he becomes too much of a handful.”

Castiel glanced at Dean and then back at Bobby, taking a moment to process the information before nodding once, slowly.

“I’ll make sure to remember that,” he promised, trying to make the silent ‘thank you’ as clear as he possibly could through the words. He straightened up when Dean came walking out of the doorway, carrying the last box down the stairs before putting it down next to the car.

“Remember what?” he asked, wiping his hands off on the back of his jeans while looking at them expectantly.

“Nothing,” Bobby answered nonchalantly. “Just debating whether your new boyfriend here has a pet octopus at home, or if he’s just very enthusiastic.”

Dean scowled, obviously not getting what an octopus could possibly have to do with anything. It wasn’t until Castiel turned his face away with a poorly contained snort of a laugh that Dean’s ears slowly began turning a furious shade of red. He grumbled something Castiel didn’t quite catch in Bobby’s direction as he quickly bent down to toss the box into the trunk of the Impala.

“You two stay out of trouble, now,” Bobby warned them when they then returned to their respective cars. 

“Why,” Dean asked cheekily, leaning out through the rolled down driver’s window. “You’ll put us on time out in the garage if we don’t behave ourselves?”

“Boy, I don’t wanna catch your scrawny ass around my garage for at least another year,” Bobby grumbled grimly. “Unless it’s to help me fix a car, not break it.” 

“I’ll pay you back for those windshields,” Dean promised. “As soon as I find a new job.”

“Keep your money,” Bobby waved, almost sounding offended. “If I wanted you to pay for everything you’ve broken around here, you wouldn’t have any money left to eat.”

Dean snorted, shaking his head before stretching his arm out, offering Bobby his hand.

“Take care, Bobby,” he said solemnly. “Thanks for everything.”

Bobby frowned at the hand extended towards him. Then he grabbed it, giving it a quick shake before letting it go just as fast. 

“Just get your piece of junk car off my driveway, you idjit.”

“Watch it,” Dean warned, pointing a foreboding finger at the other man before he leaned back into the car to turn the ignition on; missing out on the playful wink Bobby sent Castiel’s way, and the grateful smile Castiel gave the old man in return as he climbed into his own car.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

“Now this one brings back memories…”

Dean looked up from the box he was rummaging through on the couch just in time to see Castiel pull out one of Dean’s old vinyl records from a box on the floor, turning it around so that Dean could read the label on the front.

“Metallica?” Dean asked incredulously, looking from the album featuring the same name to the man sitting cross-legged on the floor. “How come?”

Castiel smiled, reading through the songs on the back of the pitch-black cover.

“Gabriel used to play this all the time when we were younger. I bought it for his twentieth birthday along with a record player—it cost me a minor fortune back then, but it was worth it just to see the look on his face.” He chuckled, carefully putting the record down next to him on the floor.

“I’ve always thought Black Album was their best,” he added thoughtfully.

For the hundredth time that day, it struck Dean how Castiel was so much more than what he at first appeared to be. This guy had layer beyond layer within his person that continued to pop up and surprise Dean when he least expected it, and it was strange how that only seemed to increase the adoration he felt for the man. Like now; the mere thought of Castiel listening to Metallica felt so out of place and still so completely right at the same time, it just blew his mind.

“That’s funny,” he chuckled. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Metallica fan?”

“I wouldn’t call myself a fan,” Castiel objected modestly. “I enjoy most kinds of music. I don’t have what you would refer to as a favorite artist, or band, though I admit, electric guitars do have their charm.”

“You never mentioned that before,” Dean pointed out. Castiel’s lip quirked into a smirk when he looked up at him from beneath dark lashes.

“I suppose I was too busy informing you of… other things,” he drawled, and Dean nodded, chuckling.

“Yeah, that was probably it.”

Castiel went back to methodically paging through the stack of records inside the box on the floor, and Dean looked at him, a curious thought slowly taking form inside his head.

“Speaking of…” he said, putting the box on his lap down onto the floor in order to settle back onto the couch. “I never did get to hear the full story on what you did with the…  _ inspiration  _ I gave you.”

Castiel glanced at him as he picked up another set of records from the box, carefully placing them next to the Metallica album.

“No…” he agreed quietly. “No, I suppose you didn’t.”

“Care to share?” Dean smirked and in return, Castiel’s left eyebrow rose into a surprised arch.

“Now?”

“Yeah, why not?” Dean settled down further into the cushions with a lewd grin. “Better late than never, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know…” Castiel’s eyes flickered back to the records in front of him, and that shy look right there must have been one of the most adorable things Dean had seen in his life. Not surprisingly, the sight also caused a hot pulse of heat to shoot right down his pants, and suddenly he really, really wanted to hear what Castiel had gotten up to with that toy of his.

“C’mon, Cas,” he whined. “You basically spilled the whole thing last night, what’s so bad about doing it again?”

“There’s nothing bad about it,” Castiel objected. “It’s just—”

“Just what?” Dean prompted, but instead of answering, Castiel suddenly stood up from the floor, sending him a secretive little look over his shoulder.

“Wait here,” he said. He disappeared down the hallway and into the bedroom, returning after just a few seconds with a familiar piece of silk held out between his hands. 

The sight of that blue tie, along with the devilish glint in Castiel’s eyes, made a red light go off in the back of Dean’s head, but he ignored it in favor of the excited chill that sparked through his body at the same time. He licked his lips when Castiel slowly climbed up to straddle his lap, the world disappearing when the dark haired male wordlessly folded the fabric over Dean’s eyes and began tying a knot at the back of his head.

“What are you doing?” Dean chuckled, bringing his hands up to grab around Castiel’s wrists. Castiel shook him off with a low huff, continuing his work with the tie.

“I can’t have you looking at me when I tell you,” he explained, making Dean’s brow furrow.

“Why not?” he snorted.

“Because you were never meant to  _ see _ me tell the story in the first place. Those were the rules.”

“You don’t think you’re taking this a bit too seriously?” Dean asked, slowly rubbing his hand over the front of Cas’s shirt, thumbing the hard edge of a nipple through the cotton fabric.

“Absolutely not,” Castiel decided firmly, grabbing Dean’s hand and removing it from his torso at the same time as he grabbed hold of Dean’s other wrist, maneuvering both limbs up until they were firmly spread out on top of the dark leather couch.

“Now stay still,” he instructed. “Don’t move.”

“Is this payback for something?” Dean asked. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Not payback…” Cas chided, slowly ghosting his fingertips up and down the length of Dean’s arms. “Consider it a housewarming gift.”

“Really? Man, I need to switch apartments more often.”

Cas actually chuckled at that, and then Dean felt the firm press of lips against his own, most probably to make him shut up. Shortly after that, Dean decided that he really didn’t have any interest in talking anymore when Castiel slowly began to nip and lick his way down his throat and neck in long, hot swipes. He could feel those full lips search out and lock onto one of his already-there hickeys and suckle hard, the slow, throbbing flash of pleasure-pain pushing something in between a growl and a wince out of his throat. 

Castiel’s hands trailed across his shoulders, down his chest, until they found the hem of his t-shirt. They dipped underneath it, pushing the fabric up to bunch just beneath Dean’s armpits before they slid down to mimic the movement Dean had done over Castiel’s own chest a mere minute ago. The thumbs slid over both his nipples in lazy spirals, and Dean arched into the touch, gasping quietly at the sensation.

The fingers brushed across the hardening nubs in slow, rolling circles, and every swipe sent another electric jolt of pleasure to pool low in Dean’s gut. When Castiel leaned down to add a lick of his tongue to the equation, Dean moaned, his head lolling back against the cushion with a low thud. He could feel Castiel chuckle against his chest, the heat of his breath making Dean shiver.

“Now who’s the one who’s been holding back on information?” Cas asked slyly, continuing to roll the left nipple in between his thumb and index finger to drag another gasp out of Dean’s lungs. 

“Did I stumble across a sweet spot here? You sound like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Dean groaned when Castiel continued to lick and suckle at his chest, his fingers fisting the top of the couch while breathing harshly through his mouth, yelping when there was an unexpected nip of teeth against the hardened peaks. Dean knew he had sensitive nipples, perhaps even abnormally sensitive for a guy, but damn… Having Castiel’s mouth and tongue toy with him like this was just about as much as he could take and still will himself to stay in place, Cas balancing him on a knife’s edge of bliss and torture with a skill that had his breath catching in the back of his throat. 

Slowly, making sure to take his time, Cas kissed his way down Dean’s stomach, stopping only to playfully dip his tongue into his belly button before proceeding to slide his mouth over his abs. All the while, he pushed himself back and eventually completely off of Dean’s lap to kneel on the floor between Dean’s parted knees. 

Dean moaned and thrust his hips lazily upwards when those wicked hands left his chest in favor of undoing the buttons of his fly. A sharp tug later, Dean felt the elastics of his boxers stretch, and he sighed when the length of his cock was finally sprung free from the confinements of the jeans that were now hanging loose and open on his hips, still more on than off. 

He waited, expecting to feel the touch of hands or a mouth on him at any second, but nothing happened. He shifted hesitantly, straining to hear what Castiel was doing, but he was met only with silence. What was that little devil up to?

“Cas?” he asked, but the dark around him remained quiet, not a sound being heard except the rush of his own breathing. Did Cas leave him like this? Where the hell did he go? 

The seconds ticked by and the longer he remained where he was, the more impatient he became. He knew that he should probably wait, but his cock was begging for attention below his waistline, twitching in its yearning for physical contact. He allowed one of his hands to slowly fall off the back of the couch, creeping it across the distance to touch himself, but before he reached his goal, his hand was grabbed forcefully by the wrist and pinned back to the couch, the low chuckle of Castiel’s voice sending the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

“Did I say you could move yet?” Castiel purred and Dean let out a low whine to the ceiling, tugging at his captured hand.

“Fuck, Cas… You’re blue balling me here…” he groaned, but once again he was met with silence when Castiel’s hand released its grip around him.

“C’mon, man, not again,” he whined, but then there were sounds of movement coming from right in front of him. Dean shuddered when fingertips suddenly moved in to touch his left rib, sliding over his side in a tender caress.

“I’m still here,” Cas informed him quietly, his hand ghosting down the front of Dean’s body, down his hips, to eventually rake blunt nails over Dean’s still clothed thigh. 

“Fucking tease…” Dean groaned, hearing Cas chuckle on the other side of the darkness before his eyes.

“You said it yourself; I’ve always been a sucker for the teasing.”

Dean’s body tensed when he heard the unmistakable whisper of a zipper coming undone, soon followed by the rustle of clothing. He felt the couch shift when Castiel sat down somewhere next to him, still, he realized with growing impatience, without touching him.

“I started like this,” Castiel whispered, and suddenly his voice seemed to have dropped an entire fucking register, the sound of it provoking shivers all over Dean’s body. “All splayed out on Gabriel’s couch, much like you are now, touching myself. Can you imagine that?”

Dean swallowed, nodding obediently, because yeah, he most certainly could.

“I had been thinking about the gift you brought me the entire day…” Cas drawled. “Just waiting for Gabriel to get out of the apartment so I could have some time for myself…” He moaned at the memory. “And when he finally left, I was practically shaking… My pulse racing through my body… Pounding inside my head…”

Dean heard something move, felt the cushions shift when the other adjusted himself on the couch, and he flexed his fingers against the hard leather, his knuckles crackling with tension.

“I took it out of the box,” Cas continued, and now Dean could hear the way his voice trembled, a tiny shiver at the end of the sentence that made Dean’s dick twitch against his stomach.

“I took it out and looked at it… Touched it and imagined how you would like to be touched… How you would taste…” Another groan seemed to echo through the room, and God, the images inside Dean’s head right now.

“I thought about what it would feel like to have you inside me… To feel you move with me, on top of me… Spreading me open so good…”

At that, Dean tipped his head back, moaning silently, remembering exactly how that had felt the night before; the tightness and the warmth of Cas surrounding him. His fingers clenched harder into the cushions at his sides.

“I went slow at first,” Cas whispered breathlessly. “I pushed it inside me… Feeling it… f—fill me up…” 

Behind the blindfold Dean’s eyes suddenly snapped open, his head jerking up from the backrest to turn towards the sound of Castiel’s trembling voice, because fuck, he recognized that sound…!

“Cas, what are you doing?” he asked sharply, but in response he only got another loud moan, making Dean’s breath stutter to an abrupt halt inside his chest.

“Cas, are you— Jesus Christ, are you  _ fingering _ yourself?” He straightened up, his hand already halfway to ripping the tie away from his eyes when the growl of Castiel’s voice made him freeze dead on the spot.

“You take that blindfold off, Dean, and I swear to God,” he threatened.

“Jesus Christ…” Dean repeated, slumping back into his seat with a groan, gritting his teeth when he heard Castiel’s breath speed up again. Now when he knew what that sound meant, it was even harder to remain where he was than it had been before. Cas, the little fucker, was seemingly not holding back in the slightest anymore, the low timbre of his voice causing Dean’s entire body to shiver uncontrollably. 

His dick was hard and rigid against his stomach, and he wanted to reach down and touch himself so badly it hurt, but the tone of Castiel’s words still echoed inside his head, holding him down like invisible bindings around his wrists. Damnit, he had always had a weak spot for that voice; that predatory growl that made his toes curl and his head sear. At the moment, he almost regretted having told Cas that particular piece of information, because the other was obviously and without a doubt trying to kill him with it!

“I fucked myself on your cock, Dean…” Castiel groaned. “I took it up my ass, thinking of all the things I wanted you to do to me… Don’t you want to hear what I wanted you to do to me?” The question rose into a throaty whine and Dean felt goosebumps prickle the skin all over his body in icy needles of pure arousal in response.

“Oh, God, yes…” he gasped.

“I wanted you to fuck me,” Cas revealed breathlessly. “I wanted you to make me scream and claw at your chest in sheer desperation. I bet you would have liked that, wouldn’t you…?”

“God damnit, Cas—”

“But I realized,” Cas interrupted him. “I realized that there was something I wanted even more.” 

Dean heard Castiel move, the leather creaking when the other slowly slid off the couch, for a moment completely disappearing from Dean’s radar before returning with the soft touch of hands to his knees, making him suck in a deep breath through his nose.

“You want to know what it was?” Cas murmured, nuzzling his mouth against the inside of Dean’s clothed thigh. Dean immediately spread his legs wider, urging the other man to move in closer. When he felt hot breath rush over the tip of his cock he bit down on his lip, barely holding back a whimpered ‘yes’. 

The hand on his left knee moved higher, fingers scratching their way up to his thigh, and the air from Castiel’s mouth was like fire on his skin when the man let out a breathy chuckle.

“You sure?” he teased. Dean responded by bucking his hips impatiently, causing the hands on his legs to tighten in silent retribution. 

“Behave yourself, Dean,” Castiel threatened. “You are not in a position to make demands at the moment.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean panted, and Castiel chuckled again. It just wasn’t fair how evil that sounded, even more so how something so sinister could make Dean even harder than he already was.

“It means that I have a sculpted, vibrating replica of  _ this _ …” Cas moved his hand up to splay over the jut of Dean’s pelvis, pushing down lightly, but still without touching his actual arousal. ”… fully at my disposal. I can take care of myself. Question is; are you and your hand willing to do the same?”

“You little fucker…” Dean hissed, but he cut himself off with a sharp gasp when teeth suddenly closed around his right nipple, the wet heat of Cas’s tongue lapping at the bud until Dean couldn’t help but squirm in his seat, struggling to keep the stream of needy whimpers that wanted to escape his throat at bay.

“What?” Cas purred, releasing the nipple with a wet pop. “I didn’t quite get that.”

Dean bit down on his lower lip, shaking his head in silence. He could feel the pleased curve of Castiel’s mouth move against his chest, down his trembling abdomen.

“That’s what I thought…” Castiel mused, and then Dean literally choked on his own breath when Castiel’s mouth suddenly sank down over his cock, the slick heat of saliva wrapping around him as the tight circle of lips slowly began to move up and down his shaft.

Dean was not ashamed to admit that he had spent many mornings, afternoons, and nights imagining how that mouth would feel on him. What the sensation of that tongue slicking up his skin would be like, but never, not even in his wettest dreams had he imagined anything like this.

Yes, Cas had sucked him off last night, and yes, it had been amazing, but at that time Dean’s focus had been split by the task of getting the other man off at the same time. He suspected that Cas had not really been able to pay attention to what he was doing to Dean himself either, but  _ now _ …

Dean had been right all along; of course he had been, and truth was that Cas turned out to be a god damn  _ pro _ at sucking dick! Not like a pornstar, with the excessive amount of saliva and those unsettling choking sounds, no, this was nothing like that. Castiel’s mouth was like a piece of pure Heaven, his tongue moving in wicked swipes over just the right spots, at just the right pace, and oh, how Dean loved being right! 

“Oh fuck, that’s good…” he groaned. “Yeah, just like that… Jesus…”

He had expected there to be some kind of warning first, but Castiel simply dipped his head down, going further and further until Dean could feel those sinful lips mouth at the rough hair at the base of his dick; the tip of his cock pressed against the back of the other man’s throat. The walls relaxed and tightened around him, again and again. Cas didn’t even make a sound; seemingly fully capable of deep throating him like this for as long as he wanted, and Dean couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t  _ breathe….! _ It felt so  _ good _ , and Cas...  _ Cas…! _

The orgasm came rushing towards him faster than he would have thought possible, and he gulped for breath, the white noise rising inside his head. It all disappeared, however, when Castiel’s mouth abruptly abandoned him, leaving his cock desperately twitching for that final thread of stimulation that would have pushed him over the edge. Dean was absolutely positive that he was going to faint when the rush of his climax bubbled down beneath the surface once more, leaving him strung out and panting on the edge of his seat.

“Fuck…!” He winced, throwing his head back, “Damnit Cas, why’d you st—”

His complaint ended in a garbled noise when Castiel moved again, his tongue circling around the tip of Dean’s erection in teasing slow strokes. He stopped momentarily to toy with the thin frenulum beneath the head before he pulled off completely, letting out a wet slurp that made Dean arch right off the couch.

“I thought about this,” Castiel panted quietly, his voice sounding rough and completely fucked out in ways that set Dean’s entire body ablaze.

“About what you would like me to do to you, once you had me on my knees. I used to imagine the sounds you’d make… What you’d ask of me, and I found the thought to be…  _ extremely _ arousing.”

He underlined the statement by licking a long, lazy stroke from the base of Dean’s cock to the very top, dipping the tip of his tongue shallowly into the slit, making Dean hiss.

“And that’s what I realized that time on Gabriel’s couch,” he continued. “With the feeling of your cock moving inside me… I realized that I didn’t just want you to  _ tell  _ me what to do.”

The weight on Dean’s thighs increased when Castiel used them as leverage to push himself up, straddling Dean across the waistline once more, nipping at his neck. Dean was more than willing to toss the rules of Castiel’s little game right out the nearest window at any second. He wanted to  _ touch, _ damnit, wanted to  _ feel _ , but the sudden, hot breath against his ear made him stay put.

“I wanted you to  _ beg me _ , Tiger,” Cas growled, and Dean could feel his entire body flush furiously in response to his other name; his secret,  _ sinful _ name. His dick twitched heavily in response to Castiel’s voice, making him groan when he felt it brush against the unexpected naked skin of what he assumed to be Castiel’s stomach. 

“I wanted to hear what you would sound like when I was on top of you, holding you down and fucking myself on your cock,” Cas murmured. “So I rode the dildo you gave me, and I rode it  _ hard _ … And then I came in my brother’s old sweater. Splattered my load all over the goddamn thing while screaming out your name. It felt so good, Tiger. So fucking good…”

“For God’s sake, Cas, stop stalling and get on with it already…!” 

“You’re not paying attention, Dean,” Cas scolded, and Dean felt the other’s right hand slowly trail down and wrap around his cock with loose fingers. It was not a tight enough of a grip to provide him with any satisfaction, and he groaned when Castiel’s other hand came up to tilt his head back with a firm grip around his jaw, Castiel’s tongue moving in to lick into the hollow of Dean’s mouth in a way that was just  _ filthy _ .

“C’mon... “ Castiel coaxed. “Tell me how much you want to fuck me… Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Cas,” Dean growled. “Get the fuck on me. Now.”

“Ask me nicely,” Castiel countered with a smile, and it was a good thing Castiel’s couch was as sturdy as it was, because Dean felt as if his fingers were about to rip right through the goddamn leather at any second.

“Please…” he winced, his pride threatening to burn a hole straight through his tongue when he swallowed it down. “I need you to ride me. I needed to be inside you like ten minutes ago, so please, get on me and ride me, Cas, please.”

“Don’t overdo it, Dean… It makes you look needy.” 

It was probably meant as a reprimand, but Dean could tell from the thick tone of the other’s voice that Castiel  _ liked _ him needy, and if the hand tightening around his cock was of any indication, then Dean had done that part just right. However, when Castiel’s weight shifted on top of him and Dean felt the tip of his erection push against and breach the other’s—holy mother of porn— _ lubed _ entrance, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep his submissive display up for much longer.

Castiel moved slow. So torturously  _ slow, _ and Dean wanted nothing more than to grab him by the hips and pound into him until he could  _ hear _ those blue eyes roll back into his skull. Yet, at the same time, another part of him was telling him to get a hold of himself and simply endure it; to savor each and every sensation, to  _ let _ himself get manhandled like this. Because right now, those little hints of steel in Castiel’s voice and hands were the hottest fucking things he had ever been subjected to in his life. He wanted it to last just as badly as he wanted it to end, the contradiction of it all tearing at him from the inside out.

“You feel so much better in real life,” Castiel panted silently, slowly lowering himself down further. Dean heard him groan, two strong hands coming up to brace firmly against his shoulders. 

“Oh, Dean…!”

Dean held his breath for so long, he felt as if his lungs were going to explode, but once he felt himself bottom out inside the man above him he let it out in a slow, shaky sigh. Castiel’s fingers tangled softly amongst the short hairs at the back of his head, pulling him back to expose the spotted surface of his bruised neck and throat, wrenching a broken moan from his lips.

“So beautiful…” Cas whispered, nuzzling his nose against his jawline. “You want me to move?” he purred, and Dean nodded eagerly, not even capable of answering properly. 

He could have cried with relief when he felt the other slowly begin to bob up and down. The fingers in his hair tightened when Castiel’s head came down to rest against his shoulder. And he felt the heat of Castiel’s shuddered breath as it came rushing down the left side of his chest.

“Shit…” Dean gasped, leaning in to press his forehead against Castiel’s clavicle, and it was with a pang that nearly made his head black out that he realized that Castiel wasn’t wearing his shirt anymore either. The mental image of Cas riding him, completely naked while he still had all of his clothes on, was nearly too much for him to take. 

“I gave you the wrong nickname, you little bastard,” Dean groaned. “I should have called you the blue eyed demon instead…”

“This is not so bad,” Castiel murmured against his skin, a small tremble coursing through his body, making his voice shiver. “I could do so much worse... I could sit here on top of you and jerk myself off, not moving an inch until I came all over the front of your t-shirt.”

“What makes you think I’d let you get away with that?” Dean hissed back, his arms tensing when Castiel moved in to lick along the shell of his ear, desperately trying to hold back a shudder.

“If you wanted to stop me, you would have done so already,” Cas whispered throatily. ”But you haven’t, because you  _ like _ this… don’t you? Having me bossing you around… And you won’t move; not because I told you so, but because you  _ don’t want to _ .” 

Castiel’s teeth bit down loosely on the lobe of his ear, moaning quietly around the flesh. 

“Does it sound familiar?” he taunted. 

It wasn’t until that exact moment that Dean realized how seriously screwed he was. 

He had been the one who suggested that Blue should work on his dirty talking skills, and oh, had Blue worked. He had taken lessons from the biggest sadist around; namely Dean himself. This wasn’t Castiel’s game, it was  _ Tiger’s, _ and just the notion that Dean had efficiently managed to trap himself in his own tangled web of perversions made him want to tip his head back and cry out his frustration to the ceiling.

“Just admit it,” Cas cooed. “You’re as much of a sucker for the teasing as I am… You just never told me.” He nipped his way along Dean’s jaw, coming up to brush his lips against the corner of his mouth. 

“That was very naughty of you, by the way,” he reprimanded. “I’m going to have to find a way to make you pay for that…”

“You’re going to fucking kill me, man,” Dean groaned, feeling the other’s breath ghost against his lips.

“Always such a drama queen,” Castiel murmured. Dean didn’t get time to object to that statement before Cas was kissing him again, tongue lapping over the seam of his lips and sneaking its way inside with a low moan that took Dean’s breath away; pressing in so close that Dean could feel the other man’s heartbeat against his chest. Castiel’s skin was scorching hot against his, the heat seeping through the fabric of his clothing and making him sweat. Everything was so hot, so tight and so, so good, but it wasn’t  _ enough _ , it wasn’t what he  _ needed! _

The kisses from Cas’s lips were like sweet, sweet poison, and Dean drank them all down with a desperation that he normally would have been ashamed of, his mind clouded over and lost in euphoric hysteria. 

The lube and the wet slide of saliva on his cock enabled Castiel to move close to effortlessly. Up and down, rolling his hips and grinding against him with a possessive need that Dean did not need his eyes to see, the pace slowly building in time with the ragged sound of Castiel’s breathing. The whiny moans against Dean’s lips were getting increasingly strung out, and Dean could feel his abs tighten as he arched off the couch, fighting for more friction. 

He was getting so close it was maddening. Cas was riding him fast now; fast and rough, his fingers digging into Dean’s shoulders. Dean could both feel and hear the weight of Castiel’s dick as it slapped against his stomach in time with the movement, and fuck, this was so hot, and oh, yes…!

“Oh, yeah…” he breathed. “Oh, yeah, keep going… Keep going, just— No… no, don’t you stop… Cas, don’t you dare, don’t you—Son of a  _ bitch…! _ ”

He threw his head back, a groan of agonized frustration ripping out of him when Castiel slowed down, almost coming to a complete halt over him. The orgasm that had been just within his reach faded away for a second time,  dissolved into the same, grinding ache as before.

“God, I hate you so fucking much…” Dean panted, head lolling back against the backrest while he tried to get his head to stop swirling.

“I like it slow…” Cas moaned, ignoring Dean’s apparent disapproval. “I like to feel everything… Every inch of you moving inside me…”

“Goddamn cocktease,” Dean muttered under his breath, and in response, Castiel grabbed hold of his chin, tilting his head up with a harsh tug.

“Watch your mouth,” he threatened. “Or I’ll go even slower.”

“If you went any slower we would be fucking backwards,” Dean growled. “Just  _ move  _ already.”

Castiel snorted, but to Dean’s relief, the thighs on either side of his body tensed when Cas pushed himself up. He started riding him again, the hand on Dean’s chest sliding up to drag possessively through his hair. 

Dean could hear the air catch in Castiel’s  throat when he pushed his hips up in an experimental thrust, meeting with the movements of Castiel’s body. The strung out sound of Castiel’s breath made his skin pull tight, his entire body fighting the urge to simply pound into the heat of the man above him, the tide rising yet again.

“Shit, Cas… Fuck, you have to go faster… Please, move faster…”

“A little more,” Cas whispered. “I just need a little more…”

“I’m not gonna last a little more,” Dean argued. “You need to  _ move _ .”

“Fuck… Oh, fuck...” Castiel’s hands tightened in his hair, hips stuttering. Then Castiel’s tongue was in Dean’s mouth, lips moving rough and demanding, growling his breath down his lungs. Castiel’s hand shot up, tearing Dean’s hand away from the cushions  to bring it down onto his cock, the slickness at the tip smearing out over the palm of Dean’s hand.

“Touch me…” Cas hissed, the words muffled against their lips. “Oh, God, Dean touch me…!”

Dean did not need to be told that twice, and his other hand immediately left the couch to grab hold of the other man’s hip so hard he heard Castiel wince. His hips pistoned up and Castiel’s hands landed on either side of his shoulders with a startled cry, bracing himself for the ruthless pace Dean set for them. Castiel’s one hand latched onto Dean’s left bicep in a bruising grip while the other scrambled for refuge against Dean’s neck.

“Let me see your eyes,” he moaned. “I wanna see them…!”

The next second the blindfold was ripped away from Dean’s eyes, the sudden light sending prickling needles to his vision. He quickly blinked them away, and when he looked up at Castiel’s face, his mouth fell open in a breathless moan, because seriously, the guy looked completely and gorgeously  _ fucked out _ . 

He drank in the sight of Castiel’s hooded eyes, his parted lips, the close to helpless, blissful furl of his eyebrows. So gone, so helplessly, hopelessly, gone. 

Cas met his gaze, eyelids fluttering with each rocking movement of Dean’s hips, and just like that, Dean felt the power between them shift, making his lip pull up in a low snarl.

“You gonna come for me, Cas?” he hissed. “You getting close?” 

Cas nodded, trying desperately to both keep up and meet with Dean’s thrusts while bucking into the grip of his hand at the same time, without succeeding. Dean knew exactly how close the other was, because he was riding the crest of the same wave himself. Jesus, Castiel’s hand was like a fucking vice around his arm, the fingers pushing into his flesh and seemingly burning right through his skin.

“Dean…” Castiel’s eyes flickered across his face, lingering a split second on the bottom of his lip before coming back up, wide and startled. The hand still holding the blue tie shot up to clutch over the right side of Dean’s face.

“Dean… Oh, god, Dean…yes! Oh!” 

Dean groaned when Castiel’s release shot out over his chest in long, white streaks, the feeling of semen dribbling down his torso and hand sending the heat wave crashing into him as well.

It rolled through his system, locking his limbs up while he pulsed out his own climax into the man above him, coating and slickening Castiel’s insides with come. His head whirled, the force of the orgasm clouding his vision and turning his surrounding into a fuzzy haze, the bright blue pleasure of Castiel’s eyes the only thing keeping him anchored to reality.

He couldn’t remember closing his eyes, but once the euphoria had faded and he came back down, he found himself with eyes shut, breathing hard into Castiel’s chest. Castiel was leaning against Dean’s shoulder, peppering his neck and cheek with slow, tender kisses, and Dean sighed, body sinking into the cushions behind him, lax, spent, and buzzing with satisfaction. 

He could have dozed off to sleep right there on the spot, had it not been for the mess he knew would soon be awaiting them both the very moment his erection wore off. He leaned into the hand still caressing his cheek, nuzzling Castiel’s palm with his nose to get his partner’s attention. 

“You got any plan for how we’re going to get cleaned up without ruining your couch?” he mumbled drowsily. Cas pulled away from his neck and straightened up, looking pointedly over his shoulder. When Dean followed his gaze, he spotted a bottle of lube and pack of wet wipes lying on the coffee table; a used one already folded neatly next to the box, most likely from when Cas had cleaned off his fingers after fingering himself earlier. Only problem was the distance, the table itself standing several feet away from the couch. He looked at Cas who calmly glanced back at him from the corner of his eye.

“You think you can reach that from here?” he asked and Cas smirked slyly.

“I  _ am _ very flexible,” he mused. Then he slowly leaned backwards, the muscles of his stomach tightening when he reached across the space between the couch and the table, catching the rectangular box with the tip of his fingers. He pulled it closer until he could get a firm grip around the container, and then he straightened up again, using the tight clench of his thighs around Dean’s waist as leverage.

“Man, we have  _ got _ to look up some of that Kama Sutra crap for you to try…” Dean chuckled, impressed. Even though Cas didn’t answer, Dean still caught the mischievous glint in his eye when the other yanked a couple of napkins out of the box and shoved them into Dean’s hand.

Cleaning up went easier than expected, and Dean was relieved to see that Cas was able to walk close to normally as he waddled away to disappear into the bathroom down the hall. He stretched, frowning when he felt his left arm ache at the movement, and when he looked down, he saw the unmistakable shadow of what would soon be a giant, hand-shaped bruise wrap around his upper arm. 

Man, Cas really had a strong grip for a guy who spent all his days behind a desk.

He got dressed rather quickly, and as he pulled his jeans on, the hard jut of plastic inside his pocket reminded him that he still hadn’t turned his phone back on since this morning. He quickly pressed the power button of the device in and entered the PIN code before tossing it aside on the coffee table. He barely had the time to move away before the phone went off, chiming and whirring like crazy against the glass surface.

When he picked it up and looked at the display, it informed him that he had four missed calls, all courtesy of his brother, along with six new text messages, the last one from a number he didn’t recognize.

He read the messages from Sam first and he snorted out a laugh as he paged through the so far one-sided conversation.

/\

_ 14.37 _

_ Smooth move turning your phone off, jerk. Really mature. I talked to Bobby. He said you came by to pick up your stuff earlier. Guess you really weren’t kidding about moving? Call me. _

_ 16.03 _

_ OK I asked Gabe about you and Cas and now he won’t stop laughing! What the hell is going on??? _

_ 16.29 _

_ OMG SRSLY DEAN I SO DID NOT NEED TO KNOW THAT!  _

_ 16.32 _

_ Four months and you didn’t recognize him?? You’re an idiot.  _

_ 16.51 _

_ I’m going to need a life supply of brain-bleach after this. Gabe and I are happy for you, but Gabe says Cas can never borrow his shower again. I’m bound to agree with him on that. _

\/

Dean rolled his eyes to the ceiling. His brother had always been a giant prude… He brought up the text from the unknown number on the display, not having to read past the first two words to understand who it was from.

/\

_ 16.07 _

_ Congrats Deano! I was rooting for you guys to hit it off! (and of course by ‘hitting off’ I mean ‘getting off’) Remind my brother that he now officially owes me one. I expect there to be bagels, Twinkies AND a chocolate fountain when the day comes! He’ll know what I mean ;) Don’t forget the condoms! _

\/

Dean chuckled silently. Trust Gabe to not dress his words.

“What’s so funny?”

He turned around, seeing Cas walk back out into the living room, still stark naked and seemingly completely unembarrassed about his obvious state of undress. Dean held the phone out with Sam’s messages on display for him to take with an appreciative glance up and down Castiel’s body. Cas caught the look, and he snatched the phone out of Dean’s outstretched hand with a sigh.

“Don’t you think we are a bit past the point of getting embarrassed by nudity, Dean?”

“You tell me; I never was the shy one,” Dean smirked. He was pleased to see that in spite of his careless attitude, there was a faint hint of pink creeping up the back of Cas’ neck when the other man turned his face away and began reading.

“Gabe seems to have been thorough,” he commented, handing the phone back. Dean switched to Gabe’s message, showing him the text, and Cas’ brow knotted together for a moment before he snorted out a condescending laugh.

“He wishes,” he muttered, turning around to pick up his clothes that were lying scattered across the floor next to the couch.

“Yeah, what was that about?” Dean asked, looking at the text again. “With the bagels and the chocolate fountain?”

“Just an argument we had a long time ago.” Cas pulled his jeans up, buttoning them with a calculated smile in Dean’s direction. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you about it,” he offered. Dean grinned, tossing his phone aside to pull his boyfriend in with a tug at the other man’s belt loops. His boyfriend… Wow, if someone had told him that a week ago…

“I’ll look forward to that,” he mumbled. He leaned in to press a soft kiss against Castiel’s lips, sliding both his hands around to caress the small of his back, urging the other closer. Deepening the kiss for a second time, careful not to break the tender pace, he then pulled away slowly, smiling when he felt Castiel’s lips chase after his.

“Now…” he drawled, smirking cockily when Cas shot him a quizzical look. “What do you say about making me another one of those pies?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, guys, as always :)  
> Only one more chapter to go now! Oh, how I wonder what that's gonna feature.  
> I wonder...


	14. 14

It was Monday morning and Joshua Gardner was going through his daily mail inside his office.

It was a personal principle of his not to open his mail on Fridays—Friday was practically weekend, and if people had not had the decency to contact him about urgent matters earlier, or by the phone, then they only had themselves to blame.

He sipped his morning coffee and sighed, content about the fact that he had managed to clear almost the entire stack in less than an hour. Normally, he needed at least two, but today had been remarkably easy, and he felt rather pleased when he turned his attention to the final letter of the stack.

It was a big, brown paper envelope and when he picked it up, he noted that it was remarkably heavy, most likely containing a folder of some kind. He turned it over, but there was no sender written on the back, which was strange since the letter had come from outside the building, judging by the stamps on the front.

Joshua frowned. He opened the envelope and carefully slid the contents out. Turned out he had been at least half right, because what was inside was not one folder, but several; each carefully marked with words like ‘Employment’, ‘Salaries’, ‘Terms of Notice’ and ‘Bank Transfers’.

Frown deepening, he took one of the folders and opened it, eyeing through the content. Then he took another one, repeating the process before going back to the first folder to read it one more time.

Slowly, his desk filled up with stacks of papers, reports and extracts from the varying folders, and after an hour’s worth of reading Joshua slowly reached over and picked up his phone, dialing his secretary as he turned the mystery envelope over in his hands.

“Hannah?” he said when the line picked up on the other end. “Would you please cancel my meetings for today? All of them, yes.” He flipped the envelope again, eyeing the stamps and postmarks in the upper right corner with a suspicious squint.

“Thank you. Also, could you get someone from Human Resources on the line for me? About right now, please. Thanks again.”

He leaned back into his chair, waiting for the telltale click that would announce that he had been connected through to the HR-department, pulling thoughtfully at his lower lip with his teeth.

This could turn out to be a very interesting week.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

It was Thursday afternoon and Castiel was just finishing up his final report for the day when there was a polite knock on his office door.

“Come in,” he called out, turning towards the door just as Becky’s head came peering in through the opening.

“Uhm, Mr. Novak…?”

Castiel frowned. Becky never called him Mr.Novak when they alone, and sure enough, when the door opened further he was indeed met with the sight of two women standing just behind his secretary’s shoulder.

“There are two police officers here to see you.”

Castiel instantly straightened up, studiously closing the lid to his laptop before returning his attention to the new arrivals.

“Let them in, Becky, please.”

Becky moved aside and held the door open so that the two women could walk through. Then she politely backed out of the room, closing the door silently behind her.

“Mr Castiel Novak?” the shorter of them asked. A blonde whose lack in height was generously compensated for by the authority in her voice.

“Yes, that would be me,” Castiel answered. “What can I help you with?”

“My name is detective Jody Mills,” the other woman—a tall brunette with a neat bob cut—said, holding up her badge for him to see. “This is my partner, Donna Hanscum. We would like to ask you a few questions.

Castiel blinked, putting on a look of confused concern while he tried to hide the panic that stirred just beneath his skin at the words.

“Of course,” he said, feigning surprise. “May I ask why? Is everything alright?”

“There’s no need for concern,” the second woman, Donna, assured him. “We just need to collect a few statements for an ongoing investigation. Standard procedure.”

“Mr Novak, you’re a member of the company board, is that correct?”

Castiel looked at Detective Mills, swallowing hard.

“Why, yes, I am.”

“Then am I right to assume that you’ve been attending the board meetings on a regular basis?”

“I’ve only ever missed one meeting during my three years on the board,” Castiel said, not without pride.

“Then that would be a yes?” Donna prompted, and Castiel licked his lips, swallowing again.

“Yes, it would,” he agreed.

“During these meetings, have you ever noticed anything out of the ordinary?” Mills asked. “Motions or topics that have been discussed that have struck you as odd, or out of place?”

Castiel dragged in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before answering.

“There’s been a lot of discussions regarding the corporation's economical situation since quite a few months back,” he started, choosing his words carefully. “A majority of the board members have during this time passed motions and made decisions which, in the long run, have led to a lot of people losing their jobs.”

“And what’s your opinion on that?” Hanscum asked.

“I believe that there might have been other options to chose from,” Castiel admitted. “However, and I’m a bit ashamed to say this, I never brought them up for discussion.”

“Why not?”

“Frankly, it was not my area of expertise,” Castiel sighed. “Other, more experienced board members tried to suggest similar solutions, but were all outvoted. I thought that it would only be a waste of the board’s time to bring the matter up for discussion once again.”

On the other side of the table the two women shared a mutual glance, and then Detective Mills leaned forward, folding her hands on top of Castiel’s desk.

“These board members who tried to suggest other saving motions… Do you remember their names?”

Castiel chewed on his bottom lip, thinking back.

“Well, there was Paul,” he started, seeing how detective Hanscum quickly scribbled down the name on a little notepad from the corner of his eye. “Paul Connelly, Mike Schneider, Victor Rogers and Sarah Blake. I think Victor is on a business trip in Russia at the moment, but the others should be around this week at least.”

Hanscum finished her notes and put the pad back inside her front pocket before sharing another, evaluating look with detective Mills, who nodded. When Mills turned back to Castiel, her body relaxed somewhat as she dug around inside her own pocket and then handed him a card.

“We’ll be conducting a few more interviews around the office building during the upcoming week. If there’s anything else you can think of; anything that comes to mind, please don't hesitate to contact us as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” Castiel promised, taking the offered card out of her hand. She smiled at him, warm and encouraging, and then stood up from the chair, her blonde partner following suit.

“Well then, Mr. Novak,” she said, offering her hand in a handshake which Castiel reciprocated. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Castiel nodded, repeating the handshake with the other detective. “If there’s anything else I can do, please let me know.”

He followed the two women to the door, seeing them off with a few polite nods and smiles before returning to his desk. He sat down, staring blankly at the lid of his still closed laptop for a few minutes before he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket to pull out his cell phone. He pushed in a number and dialed, keeping one eye at his closed door while the tone rang in his ear.

“It’s me,” he said as the receiver picked up on the other end. “They just left.”

He was silent, listening to the voice as it answered.

“Yes. No, I don’t think so… “

He leaned back in his chair, listening again as he dragged his hand down the front of his face.

“Yes… Yes, I know. Of course I didn’t. No, I’m not worried.”

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“I know the letter is practically untraceable, Gabriel made that point very clear.” He paused and then snorted out a laugh. “ _You’re_ an idiot.”

He threw a glance at the clock above his door. “Almost an hour, why?” He licked his lips, his chest rising as he dragged another, deep, slow breath into his lungs. “I suppose that can be arranged,” he said, a smile sneaking across his lips. “I take it that means that I’m baking you a pie tonight?”

There was a low, grumbling sound from the other end of the receiver and Castiel chuckled.

“Patience, Dean. I’ll see you when I get home.” He smiled, listening while Dean said something else, something softer, over the line.

“I know,” he murmured affectionately. “I love you too.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Wednesday morning.

As Castiel stepped into the lobby of Edenstar, he was met with the sight of Zachariah being led down the hallway, in handcuffs, flanked by two police officers, who in turn were led by Detective Mills and Detective Hanscum.

Zachariah looked as if he would rather have been led out the building through the garbage shoot, and his face appeared to shift between a pale green and feverishly red hue as he was led past the receptionist’s desk, eyes glued to the floor.

None of the party looked at Castiel as they passed, disappearing out the large glass doors without a sound, continuing onwards to the police cars that were parked just outside.

Castiel made sure to leave the reception as quickly as he could, not wanting to risk anyone seeing the smug little smile that threatened to spread across his face faster than he could walk.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Another Thursday, a week after Zachariah’s arrest, and things were remarkably calm at Edenstar.

A few days prior, the entire lobby and premises outside had been downright littered with journalists, all trying their best to get the people coming and going to comment on their—nowadays former—CEO’s actions.

They had tried to get Castiel to talk as well; shoving microphones, cell phones and voice recorders at his face when they spotted him, but he had said nothing. It had been remarkably easy, just to keep his lips firmly sealed until he reached the safety of his car and could lock himself inside it. Only a handful of reporters actually bothered to follow him all the way to the parking lot, and on the third day most of them had begun to recognize him, focusing their attention onto other victims, knowing that pursuing him would give them nothing.

Today, things were quiet. There had only been two reporters outside this morning, and they had not paid Castiel any attention whatsoever, too busy checking their faces in the camera lenses to notice his arrival.

As of now, Castiel was sitting by his desk, going through his normal reports from the company’s client meetings from the prior month. The impact of Zachariah’s antics had spread further, and much faster than they had thought, and many of Edenstar’s clients were getting anxious. They wanted to get out, end their deals with the company completely. As CMO it was Castiel’s job to make sure that if Edenstar lost their clients through one door, there would be new clients coming in through another, and for the first time in many, many years, Castiel was literally thanking God that he was so ridiculously good at his job.

Castiel was a tactician, and the market was a battlefield. The fact that the company’s current situation was partly his fault only spurred him into putting even more work into his strategies than he normally would have, and his efforts had already begun to pay off.

He had closed one major deal with a company in southern Texas just the day before, and if he was lucky, he would have another contract to sign in Canada in just a couple of days.

If luck was on their side, then Zachariah’s presence wouldn’t even be noticeable at the end of next year.

Castiel picked up his cup of coffee, emptying the final, lukewarm sip lingering at the bottom and grimaced as the fluid went down his throat. That was the problem about being too engaged in your work; you forgot to finish your drink before it ran cold.

Just as he put the cup back down, there was a knock on his door. Upon Castiel’s ‘come in’ it opened, and Mr. Gardner stepped inside.

Castiel stood up, but Joshua raised his hand, waving at him dismissively.

“Sit down, Novak,” he said. Castiel obediently sank back down into his seat while Joshua sat down in one of the chairs on the other side of his desk.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” Castiel excused himself, gesturing to the, quite literal, mess of papers between them. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Joshua said graciously. “My desk looks even worse.”

“I can imagine,” Castiel said, casting his eyes down. He knew perfectly well why Joshua’s desk was the way it was, and even though he knew that it had been for a good cause, he couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty about being the one to have caused it.

“I heard you closed a pretty big deal yesterday,” Joshua said, calmly changing the subject, and Castiel nodded.

“Texas,” he confirmed. “They’re willing to extend the contract for another ten years if these first three go well.”

“Then let us pray that they do,” Joshua smiled. He leaned forward, looking at Castiel over the edge of his reading glasses.

“You weren’t at the board meeting the other day,” he pointed out, and Castiel swallowed.

“No, I was— I had to make some international phone calls, and the time difference—”

“Don’t apologize,” Joshua winced. “Castiel, everybody knows how much time you’re putting into your job. The amount of extra work Zachariah’s actions has put on your department is a well known fact; nobody is going to accuse you of negligence for not attending _one_ meeting.”

“Thank you, sir, I—”

“Which brings me to why I am here,” Joshua continued, cutting Castiel off. His face grew serious, eyes hardening.

“I assume that you’re already aware of the fact that the board has elected me temporary CEO until further notice?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered. “There was a memo.”

“Good,” Joshua said. “That makes things easier.”

Castiel swallowed, his tongue suddenly feeling like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. He felt his heart pick up speed, Joshua’s eyes regarding him silently, as if he was trying to decide if Castiel would be worth the trouble for whatever he was planning on doing.

Had Joshua found out about the envelope? Had the police found fingerprints on the folders? Oh God, had Castiel been found out, what was going on?

“The police put out a warrant for Uriel this morning,” Joshua said gravely, pulling Castiel back to reality. Castiel blinked.

“Uriel?” He asked. “Zachariah’s assistant?”

“I’m afraid so,” Joshua confirmed. “Apparently, he and Zachariah were working the scam together. The police went to arrest him this morning, but his apartment was already empty. They say it looked as if he had left in a big hurry.”

“Do they have any idea where he is?”

“They’re investigating it as we speak. According to the police, he’s probably not that far gone.”

“I see…” Castiel mumbled. “That is unfortunate, to say the least, but… I’m afraid I don’t understand what that has to do with me?”

Joshua gave him an evaluating glance, and then he leaned back, folding his hands in his lap.

“I know that you have a lot on your plate,” he said. “Like I said, the entire board has noted your efforts to help clean this mess up, and we’ve decided that something has to be done. You’re doing a great job at it, don’t get me wrong,” he added quickly, seeing Castiel’s confused frown. “But surely you understand that one person can only do so much?”

Castiel shook his head. This conversation was getting more and more confusing by the minute.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I don’t follow.”

“With Uriel gone, Human Resources had to put out ads for new assistants, and I took the liberty of letting them know that you were in dire need of one as well.”

Joshua pulled out a folded piece of paper from inside his pocket, handing it over to Castiel, who took it with a wary look.

“You’re welcome to say no, of course,” Joshua said, “but I think that it would be good for your future health to, you know, share the workload.”

Castiel unfolded the paper, looking down at the printed page. It was a CV, crowned by the picture of a girl with flaming red hair and a big, friendly smile.

“She’s a recent graduate,” Joshua explained. “Her grades are exceptional, her service record is spotless, and she used to work at Edenstar before she went back to school, so she’s already familiar with the company.”

“And you want her to become my…?”

“Administrative assistant,” Joshua filled in and Castiel blinked.

Administrative assistant. That was… Oh, that would be marvelous. That would be— Oh, wow…

He looked up at Joshua, who was once again smiling at him.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said, completely sincere.

“Then don’t say anything,” Joshua suggested, standing up from his chair. “Just give her a call. Arrange an interview.”

Castiel looked down at the paper in his hands, gaze sliding over the name at the top of the page.

_Charlie Bradbury. Previous employment: Edenstar Entrepot Corp._

“You know,” he said, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “I have a feeling that an interview probably won’t be all that necessary.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

It was Friday evening, several weeks later, and when Castiel entered his apartment he found Dean sitting by the kitchen table, plucking with something that looked suspiciously much like a rusty part from an engine.

Thankfully, his boyfriend had been so considerate as to cover the kitchen table with a spread of old newspapers, in contraire to the last time Cas had come home to find him like this. Going by the smudgy paper towels lying next to Dean’s arm, Dean seemed to have taken his mission not to leave any smudgy fingerprints all over the furniture seriously this time.

Ever since Dean got that new job at the car service he had picked up a nasty habit of bringing home the most peculiar pieces of equipment and vehicle parts. Castiel liked that Dean enjoyed his new job, he really did, but cleaning up after him had begun to lose its charm. It had taken Castiel about two weeks of constant nagging to make Dean understood that simply because grease stains _could_ be cleaned off the interior of the apartment, that didn’t automatically mean that Cas _enjoyed_ doing it.

It finally seemed as if his point had gotten through, however, and when Castiel entered the kitchen he was greeted by a dazzling smile and a twinkling look from bright green eyes, not a single smudge or stain in sight.

“Hi, babe,” Dean beamed. “Man, you’ve gotta come check this out!” He gestured to the metal rod in his hands. Castiel thought that he looked very much like an enthusiastic five-year old where he sat, eyes wide and gleaming. A five-year old who had just found something exceptionally slimy to poke with a stick, and who now wanted to share the experience.

“I’d rather not,” he declined politely, but Dean was already lost to the surrounding world again. Cas didn’t care for motors or engines, mostly because they seemed to come with the inevitable company of oil and dirt. Dean knew this, but he still kept offering Castiel to look at the various toys he dragged home, possibly in the hopes that Cas would someday change his mind.

Upon hearing Castiel’s normal answer to the invitation Dean dove down and focused on trying to cram the rod into a metal cylinder lying next to it, wiggling and scraping the two pieces together with a deep frown of concentration. The pink tip off a tongue came peeking out at the corner of his mouth as he worked, and he had seemingly already forgotten about the fact that Castiel was back.

Castiel didn’t find that offensive in any way; he was just grateful to have escaped the threat of getting a hands-on lesson in mechanics. Instead he was now free to walk up to the sink where he poured himself a glass of cold water before turning back to eye his boyfriend’s struggle.

“You’re home early today,” he commented, sipping slowly from the glass in his hand. “I thought that car you were talking about would require you to stay late?”

“Yeah, but it turned out to be an easy fix, “ Dean shrugged, leaning down over the table, almost going cross-eyed with intensity as he studied the details of the objects he was holding. “I was done by lunch and after that I figured I might as well take the rest of the day off.”

“Slacker,” Castiel teased and then he tossed the newspaper he had been carrying underneath his arm onto the table next to Dean’s elbow.

“Take a look at that.” He motioned to the paper and Dean picked it up, eyebrows tenting when he spotted the front cover.

“Wow…” he commented, a wolfy grin slowly curling across his lips as he turned the paper around.

Castiel looked at the full-blown picture on the cover where a very hostile looking Uriel, and a less-than-happy Zachariah could be seen, half hidden behind a police escort. The headline above announced: ‘ _President of Edenstar embezzles millions!_ ’ while another, smaller headline below read: ‘ _Accomplice caught attempting to leave the country!’_ next to a picture of Uriel’s employment photo from Edenstar.  

Dean tapped the picture with his index finger.

“We should frame this,” he said proudly and Cas snickered, turning his back towards the sink to rummage through a cupboard in the hunt of something to snack on.

“I don’t know where we would hang it, though,” he pointed out, eyeing the shelves. “We don’t have rooms ugly enough for something like that.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a point,” Dean nodded, looking at the front page again, frowning slightly. “He looks balder in person,” he commented dryly, eyeing Zachariah’s sour looking face on the cover one last time before tossing the paper aside. “Yippee-ka-yay motherfucker…”

“Is that a reference to something?” Castiel shot over his shoulder, interrupting his search for food to give Dean a quizzical look.

Dean liked to do that a lot; use lines and gestures from movies and TV-shows to express his feelings. Unfortunately, most of them were things that Castiel had never even heard of. Castiel never failed to tell Dean when he didn’t understand one; mostly because it never ceased to make his popular-culture addict of a boyfriend absolutely dismayed.

“Seriously?” Dean asked, snatching a paper towel from the pile on the table to wipe off the grease from his hands. “Dude, it’s from ‘Die Hard’!”

“Sounds like an unfortunate porno flick to me,” Cas commented, raising his eyebrow skeptically.

“No, it’s not a por— Damnit, it’s an action movie!” Dean’s eyes turned pleading as he began counting on his fingers: “Bruce Willis? Alan Rickman?” he tried desperately, but Castiel just shrugged.

“Sorry. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

For a moment Dean looked as if he was about to choke and die right there on the spot. Then he threw his hands up into the air, paper towels and all, before pointing a demanding finger in Castiel’s direction.

“Alright, that settles it,” he announced. “We’re having a Die Hard marathon this weekend and that’s that.”

“If you say so,” Cas agreed humbly, smiling at his partner’s obvious distress.

“I have the first two movies here,” Dean thought out loud. “ And I can borrow the third from Sam, but I might have to ask around for the fourth one… If we’re lucky, Adam might have it…”

“How is Adam, by the way?” Cas asked, giving up his fruitless hunt in the cabinet, turning back towards the table. “Is that new idea about custom paintjobs bringing any money in? I know he seemed pretty excited about it when Gabe was there the other week.”

“Oh, it’s going great,” Dean smiled. “Someone actually ordered a full frontal job today, and _no_ ,” he added with a stern look at Castiel’s twitching lip. “…it’s not nearly as perverted as it sounds. Biblical motive with angels, demons, holy fire and everything. The guy told Adam to just go crazy with it, so he’s all wound up about that. God knows he needs some artistic freedom after that hood job he had to do last week.”

“What job?” Cas scowled and Dean waved his hand around dismissively.

“Nah, some stuck up British chick who wanted an entire Ouija-board done all over the hood of her car. Apparently the letters and stuff had to be placed in a perfect circle, and that’s a bitch to do on a curved surface. Luckily, Alfie was there to calm him down, or Adam would have taken a hammer to the thing before he got it right.”

Castiel chuckled. He had to say he had been a bit surprised when he had stopped by to invite Dean out for lunch during his first week and found himself standing face to face with Alfie at the front desk. A startled and confused greeting later it was settled that the interview Alfie had been so worried about jinxing had been for this particular job at Milligan’s Car Service. Adam had announced that he needed help with administration, and Alfie had started working there just a few days before Dean came by to drop off his own application for a mechanic’s job.

Adam had been nearly overwhelmed by the sudden flood of employees crowding on his doorstep, but by now he had found himself quite at home being the boss. Even though he had learnt pretty fast to follow Dean’s advice when it came down to fixing older cars.

Alfie helped too, where he could, and together the three of them managed to make a great team. Sometimes, a little too great.

“They still get along okay then?” Castiel asked, “Alfie and Adam?”

“Like peas in a pod,” Dean confirmed smugly. “Give those two a few days alone and we might have to hire a fourth guy just to make sure they actually get some work done.”

“You think they’d be interested in each other like that?” Cas smiled.

“Oh, Alfie’s interested alright,” Dean assured him. “And Adam’s not far behind, he’s just a bit slow on the uptake. I’m telling you, that kid wouldn’t recognize a flirtation even if it came up and kicked him in the nuts.”

Castiel laughed at Dean’s crude choice of words, though he knew exactly what he meant.

“By the way,” Dean said. “How’s Charlie doing? Is she still at war with the coffee machine?”

“That depends on how you see it,” Castiel chuckled. “Now she claims that it’s possessed. I’m almost inclined to agree with her.”

“It’s a coffee machine,” Dean pointed out soberly. “How much damage can it possibly do?”

“A lot,” Castiel deadpanned. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but coffee has a nasty habit of being hot.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Dean hummed, sending Castiel a suggestive eyebrow wiggle from across the table.

“Smooth talker,” Castiel smirked, placing his now empty glass in the sink.

He was already in the process of moving away again when he suddenly frowned, turning back around to squint at the kitchen counter once more with suspicious eyes. Then he shifted his gaze to the floor, studying it just as intently.

“Did you… clean in here?” he asked in disbelief. When he looked back up he saw Dean’s face crack up in a pleased grin as the man leaned back into his seat.

“Vacuumed the floors and everything,” Dean admitted proudly. “And when you go into the bedroom you’re welcome to comment on how neatly I’ve made the bed.”

Castiel turned away from the sink to give him an amused smile and a hitched eyebrow.

“What?” Dean asked defensively, throwing his arms out to the side. “I can’t clean the apartment all of a sudden? It’s called ‘nesting’, Cas, look it up.”

Cas suppressed a chuckle as he shrugged out of his suit jacket, stepping forward to fold it gently over the back of a chair standing by the other end of the table, far away from Dean’s oily motor parts.

Castiel could sense Dean watching him out of the corner of his eye, and he studiously reached his arms up over his head in a catlike stretch, letting out a low, content groan towards the ceiling. He didn’t even get enough time to put his arms back down before Dean was on his feet, slotting up behind him to sneak his hands into the pockets of Castiel’s black suit pants, using them to pull Castiel flush against his chest. Castiel exhaled slowly, his hands dropping down to fold on top of Dean’s through the dark fabric as he craned his head back, resting it against Dean’s shoulder.

“Which reminds me…” Dean murmured lazily, leaning down to mouth at the nape of Castiel’s neck. “Do you know what day today is?”

“Friday?” Castiel tried absentmindedly, far too interested in the way Dean’s hands were kneading his hips through his trousers to pay any close attention, and Dean chuckled.

“That too…” He nibbled at the edge of Castiel’s ear. “But I was thinking about the fact that today makes it exactly six months since that time I walked in on you in Edenstar’s shower room,” he confided quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the edge of Castiel’s jaw.

“Is that so?” Castiel mumbled. He turned his head to chase after Dean’s mouth, letting out a disappointed little huff when Dean dodged him with a taunting smirk.

“Mhm… In fact…” His left hand removed itself from the pocket to fold around Castiel’s wrist, bringing his hand up to reveal the hour plate of Castiel’s wristwatch. “In just thirty minutes from now, I get hear you come for the very first time… In spite of your not so successful attempts to keep your deliciously loud mouth shut.”

“Fascinating…” Cas mumbled, moaning silently when the fingers of Dean’s other hand brushed against his hardening dick from inside his pocket. He moved his own hand up, clutching around Dean’s forearm when he felt Dean’s fingers begin to trace the outline of his growing erection through the thin lining fabric. It didn’t take long before he was fully hard, Dean’s palm wrapped around him as far as the restraints of Castiel’s clothing would let him.

He rocked himself back, going with the motion of Dean’s hand. He shuddered when Dean let out a low groan right next to his ear as his buttocks pushed back against the front of Dean’s groin and the revealing bulge in its centre.

“Cas…?” Dean mumbled, nuzzling his nose against the shell of Castiel’s ear.

“Mm?” Castiel hummed, rolling his hips back once more.

“Would you like to take a shower with me?”

“God, I thought you’d never ask.”

Dean chuckled—a sound of infinite promise and pleasure—before he gave Castiel’s cock a final, tender squeeze and pulled away.

“You go on ahead,” he urged. “I’ll just put my things away and then I’ll join you.”

“You have five minutes,” Cas warned. “If you’re not there by then, I’ll start without you.”

“Well, that wouldn’t exactly be a first, now would it?” Dean shot back with a wink, and ignoring the indignant huff he got in return, he then sent Castiel on his merry way with an affectionate slap on the ass.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Castiel was very, very proud of his bathroom.

With the exception of his bedroom, he was inclined to say that the bathroom was in fact his favorite room in the entire apartment.

Like the rest of the flat, it had a high ceiling, giving it a spacious feeling even though it wasn’t really that big, and he liked that a lot.

The second thing he liked about it was the fact that is _wasn’t white_. Instead it had this crème color scheme with diamond shaped, marbled tiles on the floor, and rich, warm, mocha colored walls. Even though the porcelain details were white, they only served together with the dark brown, wooden furniture to give the room a sleek, modern look.

The third thing however, and this was the main reason why he liked the bathroom the way he did, was the shower.

Spanning the entire inner wall of the bathroom, completely encased in glass with light tanned tiles and chromed details, it was without a doubt the best shower Castiel had ever had the luxury of enjoying in his life. Being without it for almost five months had been torture, and hadn’t it been for Tiger and his incredibly creative distractions, Castiel honestly don’t think he would have been able to mentally survive without it.

As he unbuttoned his shirt and allowed it to slip off his shoulders, he couldn’t help but smile. He would have to send those plumbers a generous gift basket one day soon, because let’s face it; without their poor organization, he would still be enjoying his showers alone.

Or rather, he wouldn’t have to, if only his boyfriend could hurry up and get his deliciously firm ass in here and join him anytime soon.

His wait thankfully did not have to last long, as he had barely closed the shower door and turned on the spray of water when he heard footsteps on the tiled floor outside the cabinet. Soon after there were hands circling him from behind and lips pressing in against the back of his neck when the shower door slid shut behind Dean with a silent whisper.

“What took you so long?” Cas grumbled, holding back a startled chuckle and a flinch when Dean’s fingers shot down to give his sides a retributing tickle.

“You better watch your tone, or I might leave again,” Dean threatened, but Cas just snorted, turning around in Dean’s arms to splay his hands out on top of Dean’s chest.

“No, you won’t,” he purred confidently. Pressing a light kiss against the corner of Dean’s mouth he let his thumbs swipe over a pert pair of nipples, causing Dean to drag in a shaky breath through his nose.

“No, I won’t…” Dean agreed in a whisper, and Castiel’s mouth curled into a victorious smile against Dean’s lips as he continued to kiss him.

Their first time in this shower had been, in lack of another word, frantic. Both so eager to put their previously discussed fantasies into action that they had been damn near to actually getting themselves killed in the process. Thank God, they had improved since then, and their second shower had lasted long enough to make them run out of hot water long before they were done. That had been one very wet weekend, in every possible sense of the word…

Castiel had also decided from the very first time he actually _saw_ Dean shower, that never in a million years would he ever offer himself to help lather the other man up. Not even if asked, because that would be a plain stupid thing to do.

Even though Dean was absolutely gorgeous with the outline of his muscles shining under the hot spray of water from above—a display that was more than enough to make Castiel’s fingers itch with the urge to reach out and touch—there was something else that held Cas back. Something that was even better than touching Dean while Dean showered, and that was _watching_ Dean while Dean showered.  

At first it wouldn’t look like much as Dean just made a quick rub down with the soap over his arms and chest with masculine and quite non-sensual movements. When his hand gripped around the shampoo bottle for the second time to squeeze out more liquid into the palm of his hand, however, Cas could feel his heart pick up speed beneath the span of his ribcage.

Dean distributed the shampoo into his hair, slowly and exquisitely methodically, massaging his scalp with the tip of his fingers from the front to the back, where his palms then dipped down to linger and press into the tendons of his shoulders. He squeezed and rubbed at the muscles slowly, letting out a quiet groan that echoed from the crème walls.

Castiel watched his boyfriend as Dean moved his hands back up, combing through the wet strands of his hair with fingers spread wide, and he licked his lips. He was certain that Dean wasn’t even aware of how pornographic he made it look when he did that, but seriously, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Cas knew that he wasn’t, he would have thought that he was sharing his shower with a porn star.

Dean moaned again, adding a scrape of blunt fingernails against his head and Castiel’s teeth bit down loosely on his lower lip to stifle his own moan, letting a slow breath out through his nose instead.

During this first month of their joined lives, Castiel had made it his personal mission to find out all the things that made Dean Winchester tick. Given the fact that Dean was a very sexual being, Cas had realized rather quickly that winding him up didn’t take much effort at all. He had managed to narrow it down to a Top Three list of things, apart from the obvious kissing and flirting that always seemed to do the trick, regardless of the situation.

One; Dean had ridiculously sensitive nipples, and it only took a few seconds of light rubbing to render the man short of speechless, something that Cas, of course, used to his advantage as often as he could.

Two; Dean loved to get bossed around. It wasn’t something Cas had expected Dean to like, but after having been shoved up against a wall or pushed down onto the floor with a growled out order to shut up and do as he was told, Dean was ready to do practically anything. Cas would be lying if he said he didn’t like it, but he also knew better than to exploit that particular weakness more than he had to. After all, a Winchester’s revenge was not to be underestimated…

Having found the One and the Two, Cas really shouldn’t have been that surprised to discover the third and final point on the list, which was the fact that Dean _liked having his hair pulled_ . Not in the pet-my-hair-until-I-fall-asleep kind of way, no. Dean liked it when Cas got a real fistful of it and _yanked_ , using the grip to steer him wherever he wanted Dean to go. If there was one thing that would push Dean over the edge every single time, it was a sharp tug to the back of his head along with a hissed out profanity against his jugular.

As of now, Dean was apparently indulging in this fetish all on his own; something he always did when he washed his hair. The fingers of his hands clenched and unclenched amongst the short spikes at the top of his head, and with every slow pull, Dean groaned, the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. He turned his head to the side, releasing another needy sound before allowing his other hand to slide down and rub slow circles across his chest and stomach, sighing contently.

Castiel’s fingers wrapped around himself and pumped lazily, breath low and steady while enjoying the sight before his eyes. The steam grew thicker inside the shower as the water kept washing down upon them both, and the suds of shampoo in Dean’s hair dissolved under the spray to disappear down the drain as Dean kept on washing himself, strong hands sliding down over abs and hips. By that time, Dean’s dick had begun to swell, the length of it hanging thick between his legs. When the edge of his own thumb graced against the soft skin of his balls, Dean gave off a filthy little sound that was not a moan nor a whimper, but which made Castiel’s breath hitch and caused his cock to twitch in his hand.

“I can hear you, you know,” Dean mused, eyes still closed. “Like what you see?”

Cas let out a breathy little chuckle and smirked, looking down to where Dean’s hand was still rubbing circles over his stomach. Then he wordlessly dropped to his knees and let his lips wrap around the head of the half erect member in front of him, hearing Dean suck in a loud gulp of breath when Castiel’s tongue curled along the suddenly much harder length in his mouth.

“Shit…” Dean panted, the smug tone now completely gone from his voice. “Warn a guy, will ya…?”

Castiel hummed and dragged his hands down the muscle of the taller man’s legs, as if saying that warning him would have counteracted the purpose. Dean accepted his primitive explanation with a silent moan, his back and shoulders hitting the wall as he took a staggering step back, and Castiel closed his eyes when Dean’s fingers came down to thread through the hair at top of his head.

Castiel wanted to look up, to see how Dean was reacting to his actions, but the water from the shower kept getting into his eyes and he was forced to close them. Instead, he decided to focus completely on the task of making Dean get as loud as he possibly could by touch alone. If he wasn’t allowed to _see_ the effects he had, then he sure was hell-bent on _hearing_ them.

He brought his right hand up and wrapped his fingers around the base of Dean’s cock, lapping at the head as he began sliding his fingers up and down the shaft slowly, hollowing his cheeks on the down stroke with that loud, suckling noise that he knew drove Dean crazy. As expected, Dean was soon thrusting forward, searching for Cas to take him deeper with pleading snaps of his hips. Castiel smirked, thinking for a moment about taking his time to tease and edge his partner even further, but then he remembered the hand still curled in his hair and decided that he really didn’t have the physical advantage needed for such a move right now.

Instead he relaxed his throat and tilted his jaw slightly up in order to get the angle right, before he allowed Dean’s cock to slide all the way to the back of his throat with an eager moan. As he did so, he also made sure to let the fingers of his free hand curl against the muscle of Dean’s thigh, needy and desperate, putting on a show. Going by the appreciative sound coming from above him, he was doing a very good job.

Sliding his fingers down Dean’s leg, he let his hand drop down to wrap around himself, matching the pace of his strokes with the movements of his mouth, and he let out another pleasured groan when a sharp needle of arousal spiked up his spine as a result.

He loved giving blowjobs, not only because he knew how much Dean liked getting them, but because it always gave him the thrill of being in control like nothing else ever did. Of course he loved it when Dean shoved him down into the mattress and basically had his way with him too, but like they had established on that day after their first official date, Dean was not one to complain about getting the roles of dominance reversed. Castiel was only happy to oblige.

A speechless, trembling, breathing-harshly-while-cursing-under-his-breath Dean was his favorite thing in the whole, wide world, and that’s what he was now aiming for. He shifted his legs, sitting up higher, and he heard Dean gasp and then let out a low whine above his head; evidence that the other man had now seen what Castiel was doing to himself.

“Fuck yeah, touch yourself, babe…” Dean rasped. “Damn, you’re so beautiful like this…”

Cas moaned, going in deeper. He shuddered when he quickened the movements over his own cock, thrusting his hips shallowly into the tight circle of his hand as he licked at the dick in his mouth, fanning his tongue over the slit in quick, shallow swipes.

Dean’s breath picked up, and suddenly there were two hands holding onto Castiel’s hair as Dean threw his head back with a breathless groan that echoed through the room, seemingly incapable of doing anything but hold on for the ride while Cas continued to lick and suckle, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing around him. A wounded whimper reached Castiel’s ears just as the hands in his hair tightened, and he was pulled off and away with a rough tug and a gasp.

He opened his eyes, barely having enough time to catch a glimpse of Dean’s face before he was hauled to his feet with Dean’s lips meeting his halfway. The protest that had been about to leave Castiel’s mouth got swallowed up by the greedy shove of a tongue when Dean’s hands dropped to clasp around his wrists with a growl. Pulling them up, Dean forced him to let go of himself, and instead, Castiel felt himself get guided backwards until his back was pressed firmly against the glass wall of the shower.

Dean’s breath was hot against his mouth, the slide of their lips slickened with water, and the heat of their skin as they pressed in against each other made the shower seem cold in comparison. Even though they were both panting hard for breath when Dean pulled away, Cas still chased after his mouth, not wanting the kiss to stop just yet.

Dean chuckled, an amused glint sparking to life in his eyes as his hands wordlessly released Castiel’s wrists, reaching up towards his face. Castiel thought that he was going to cup his jaw, but to his surprise, Dean’s hands came to a rest against the glass on either side of his head, where they started wiping across the surface in long, squeaky strokes. Up over Castiel’s head, down by his sides, over and over until Dean finally took a step back with a ridiculously pleased grin on his face.

“There,” he announced proudly and Castiel turned his head, eyeing the silhouette of the massive pair of angel wings his lover had drawn into the condensation of the glass with a raised brow. His skeptical face didn’t falter even as Dean’s index finger gently came up to push against his chin in order to guide his gaze forward again.

“I suppose you think that was very clever?” Cas asked, trying his best to look and sound as if he didn’t find the gesture adoring at all.

“As a matter of fact I do,” Dean mused, leaning in and down to crowd the other man against the glass. “My pretty, gay angel…” he murmured, his breath ghosting against Cas’ lips.

Castiel snorted, closing the teasing distance by taking a firm hold around Dean’s neck and pulling him in for a bruising kiss. Once he was sure that Dean was fully engrossed in the task of trying to outdo his enthusiasm, he gave Dean’s shoulders a hard shove, pushing him up against the opposite wall with a sharp nip at Dean’s lower lip, growling into the heat of his mouth.

Unfortunately, his momentary upper hand did not last long.

When Castiel’s free hand moved to cup Dean’s balls he barely had the chance to grace the round swell before Dean had him by the arm, spinning him around—thank God for the shower’s anti-slip floor!—and pushed him playfully against the wall.

Castiel collided with the tiles in a wet smack of skin, arm trapped behind his back and with Dean’s body pressing in like a solid weight behind him.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Dean scolded softly, his other hand coming up to curl amongst Castiel’s hair anew with loving, yet controlling strength. “It’s my turn to play with you now.”

Castiel shuddered, smiling into the ceramics when Dean began kissing his way down his neck, leaving small nibbles and love bites over his shoulders and back as he moved further south. The hand in his hair left to slide down the side of his ribs, stroking past his hipbone to grab a handful of his ass, groping slowly.

From the corner of his eye, Castiel watched Dean reach out towards the recessed shelf in the wall, grabbing the bottle of lube that had, not very surprisingly, ended up in the shower since Dean moved in.

He heard the cap open, and he moaned when Dean began to suckle what would most likely end up a bruising hickey just below his left shoulder blade.

When Dean’s first finger entered him, Castiel leaned his head against the wall, breathing slowly while Dean prepped him, the man not wasting any time before he pulled out and returned with a second digit.

“Still loose from this morning, aren’t you, babe?” Dean whispered against his neck and Cas hummed in agreement, his lips parting in a silent gasp when a third finger joined the ones already inside him.

“Hope you didn’t get any trouble for being late,” Dean added apologetically. Cas arched his back with a shaky chuckle.

“Not really… Joshua’s still too busy cleaning up Zachariah’s mess to… ngh… care about my working schedule…”

“Good.” Dean murmured. “Because I want to do that again sometime. It’s a much nicer way to wake up than from some annoying alarm clock.”

“I can imagine…” Cas moaned when Dean’s fingers spread wider, thrusting into him a little bit harder. “Took you a while… to get with the program though…” he panted.

“I’m not a morning person, you know that.” Dean scolded. “It still takes me about five minutes to figure out where the hell I am when I wake up.”

“Maybe I should start using my toy in the mornings instead then?” Castiel groaned. “Give you some time to orientate yourself… while I fuck myself on the next best thing.”

Dean chuckled and then Cas was left empty, a gaping loss where Dean’s fingers had been just seconds ago. He looked to the side, seeing Dean grab the soap to wash his fingers off under the stream of the shower.

“Hurry up,” he muttered, but Dean just smirked at him.

“You’re too impatient, Cas,” he chided. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I’m sure they do, but at the moment patience can go fuck itself for all I care.”

Dean raised a brow at his crude choice of words, but then he groaned, tilting his head to the ceiling in frustration.

“Shit, I forgot…” He muttered, “Hold on, I need to— Just hold on.”

“Where are you going?” Castiel asked, but instead of answering, Dean simply slid the shower door open and stepped out, leaving puddles of water in his wake.

Castiel let out a frustrated sigh. Whatever it was Dean had forgotten, it better be good, or there would be a goddamn _reckoning_. He turned back around, leaning heavily against the wall with his eyes closed, taking a moment to relish in the feeling of water smattering down his back. It trickled down his chest, his legs, the pattering sensation adding to the already impatient throb he felt in his groin.

The shower door closed behind him, Dean’s one arm circling him from behind in an apologetic embrace.

“Sorry,” Dean whispered against his neck, kissing it. “I forgot to put a thing away out in the kitchen.”

“Are you telling me you just trailed half a lake after you all the way out into my kitchen?” Castiel asked incredulously.

“Hey, I’m a responsible guy,” Dean objected, smiling. “I toweled off first.”

“How very considerate of you,” Castiel smiled.

“I _am_ considerate,” Dean hummed, the hand on Castiel’s chest sliding down to grab him around the hip. “Would you like me to demonstrate exactly _how_ considerate I am…?”

Castiel nodded, and a shiver travelled down his spine in a heated rush when he thought about what would come next. When he felt the first prod of something much larger than fingers push against his entrance, he moaned, bracing himself against the wall, closing his eyes.

Dean’s hand once again came to tangle in his hair and Cas allowed the other man to pull at it loosely, craning his head back. He felt Dean push into him, slow and lovingly, and he sighed when Dean began to spread fluttering kisses all over the side of his neck, rocking against him in shallow thrusts.

“Speaking of toys,” Dean murmured against his skin. “I’ve been thinking about what you said that time on the couch… About how you used the gift I gave you…”

Castiel nodded, giving him a strangled ‘uhu?’ in return as the first resistant clench of muscles relaxed and gave out under the steady pressure of Dean’s cock.

“I was just thinking… You never said anything about the vibrator back then. Didn’t you like it?”

“No… No I— I liked it,” Cas gasped. “I used it, but I— I didn’t use it until the very end… I sort of turned it on by accident…”

“Accident?” Dean chuckled, nuzzling his nose against Castiel’s ear. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“I—I don’t know.” Castiel licked his lips. “It just… ah… It sort of twisted… Rubbing against the cushion and… t—turned itself on.”

Dean laughed again, sounding inappropriately amused. Castiel groaned when Dean started hitting his prostate, slow and teasing, just barely gracing it, and dammit couldn’t he just _move_ already?

“How far did you turn it?” Dean suddenly whispered and Castiel’s brow furled, a gasp leaving his mouth when he felt Dean move in to nip at the side of his neck.

“What?” he panted, starting to get a bit annoyed with Dean’s sudden fascination over his since long forgotten masturbation session.

“How far did you turn it?” Dean repeated, more demanding this time.

“I don’t know,” Cas admitted impatiently. “Just… _on_ I guess?” He moaned, swallowing hard. “Why do you ask?”

Dean chuckled and Castiel’s back arched with a loud yelp when the length inside his ass suddenly whirred to life, sending tremors of shockingly pleasurable vibrations through his lower regions. God, he hated Dean Winchester, he hated him so fucking much…!

“Does it feel familiar?” Dean asked sweetly and Castiel groaned, the embarrassment of having been tricked so completely coloring his cheeks along with the heat of the thrumming assault against his prostate.

“Yes…!” he gasped, “Yes, it f—feels… Oh, God…”

“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it...?” Dean agreed, pushing what Cas now knew to be the dildo in a little bit further. “But do you know what would feel even better?”

Cas shook his head, feeling Dean’s lips stretch into a grin against his shoulder. There was another ‘click’ heard from below and the vibrations immediately grew stronger, causing Castiel to slump against the wall, gulping in air and bracing himself against the tiles.

“Poor angel…” Dean tsk’d from behind him. “So eager to get me inside of you that you didn’t ever bother to read the instructions properly, did you? Bet you missed out on the part where it says the vibrator comes with six different speeds? You were too horny to pay attention; couldn’t wait to feel my cock fill you up inside...”

He shifted the dildo slowly; circling and using it to spread Castiel open even further, rubbing the vibrating head against the sensitive insides of him.

“You feel that?” he mumbled softly, but Cas couldn’t answer, far too busy struggling to get his breath back under control to form words.

“No?” Dean asked with feigned innocence. “You’re not feeling that? How about this?”

Castiel’s eyes flared open when a third click was heard, a strangled noise ripping out of his throat as his legs began to shake, threatening to give out on him. Dean pushed him tighter against the wall, circling his midsection with a strong arm to keep him up as Cas gasped and writhed, the vibrator making every muscle in his body quiver and shake.

“ _Fuck_ …!” he managed. “Dean, fuck… fuck, _fuck_ , oh, _God…!_ ”

The whirring against his prostate was delirious, too much and too little all at the same time. He remembered how the shock of it had pushed him head first into a mind-splitting orgasm the first and last time he used it, and he let out a choked groan when the number Dean had said registered inside his mind.

Six speeds. Six different levels of torture and this was only halfway. This was only _halfway,_ and shit, he would definitely die this time; he would be granted the best god damn orgasm of his life, and then he would _die!_

His head made a spasmic throw to the side when Dean started moving the dildo inside him, pulling it out and pushing it in. Castiel’s fingers clawed at the wall as he panted broken words and syllables against the tiles while his other hand pried at the arm around his waist in utter desperation. He couldn’t take it, he couldn’t take it, it was too much, too much, and, oh so, so good…!

“Yeah, you’re loving this, aren’t you?” Dean moaned, ignoring his squirming. “Does it feel good? Are you enjoying it?”

The hand wrapped around Castiel’s ribs loosened, sneaking down to curl around the stiff member between his legs. Castiel was sure he was going to scratch his way straight through the wall when Dean started stroking him. Rough and fast while rubbing over the slit with the pad of his thumb, making Cas wince and thrust helplessly into the tight circle of his hand while the fire in his gut flared higher, making every inch of his skin tingle.  

“Dean…! Shit, I’m—”

“You know, I bet I could make you come with this,” Dean mumbled, calm and steady as if Castiel hadn’t even spoken. “I bet I could make you lose your shit without even touching you. Just fucking into you, just like this. You think I could do that? You’re that close?”

Cas couldn’t answer. He couldn’t tell if he was close or if he was already riding the high of his release. Dammit, he didn’t even know if he had his eyes open or closed anymore, the sparks going off inside his head blinding him.

Dean was kissing along his back, his tongue lavishing over his skin, and he could feel the other’s erection rub against the back of his thigh, rocking against him lazily. Castiel was burning, the touch of Dean’s cock on his skin along with the sensation of the vibrator inside him lighting him up from the inside out, and he moaned out a yes, not really caring what he was agreeing to as long as it made Dean do _something_!

There was a faint click, and the vibrations of the dildo died down, returning to the first setting. When Dean’s grip around his dick disappeared Castiel slumped against the wall, trying his best to breathe through the vibrations still coursing through him, making his body twitch.

“Hands on the wall, angel…” Dean ordered softly.

Cas brought his hands up to rest against the tiles next to his head, arching with a quiet gasp when Dean raked blunt fingernails down his back to squeeze around his left ass-cheek, spreading him wider. This time, Castiel was almost expecting it when the fourth click of the dildo sounded through the shower.

He was not, however, expecting the fifth click that followed a split second after, and his limbs must have locked up in seizure or something because there was no way that he was still standing, there was just no way. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, holy shit, he couldn’t _breathe...!_

“Shh, that’s it, you’re doing great,” Dean cooed against his ear. Cas garbled out something inarticulate in return, his gut clenching when Dean began thrusting the dildo in and out of him again, slow and steady in a disgustingly smug way that set Castiel’s entire soul on fire.

His torment was lessened shortly after when the vibrations were adjusted back to the fourth setting, but instantly the pace of the thrusting quickened, the rhythm going faster, pistoning in and out of him so fast Cas couldn’t even think straight.

Just when he thought that he was about to lose it, the force of the vibrations eased down to almost nothing and the dildo stilled completely, not moving an inch as it left him hanging over the edge of his climax before pulling him back in with a snap that made his very bones ache.

Lips fluttered across the span of Castiel’s heaving shoulder blades, teeth nibbling softly at his skin, a tongue swiping out to soothe the bites immediately after. Dean’s free hand moved deftly over his ribs, stroking across his chest, rubbing over the frantic pounding of his heartbeat in reassuring circles.

Then it slowly brushed down his side, further onto his leg where it grabbed hold of Dean’s own cock, stroking it softly while rubbing the head of the length against Castiel’s trembling thigh.

“I’ve been wanting to do this to you for months,” Dean moaned, dragging his cock up and down the side of Castiel’s ass, smearing precum over his skin. “I thought about it when I made it for you... I stood in my bathroom, imagining this exact moment when I would get to fuck you open with it.” He moaned again and slid the toy out a little bit before slowly pushing it back in, making Castiel gasp.

“It made me so hard just thinking about it. I didn’t even need the cock ring the instructions talked about…” Dean continued, sounding as if the mere memory of that time was enough to make his toes curl.

“But having that mold on for two full minutes waiting for the damn gel to set…?” he added with a breathy chuckle, pushing the toy in and out a second time. “Fuck… it was torture, Cas… I wanted to jack off and come while screaming your name so bad…”

The dildo spanned back up to the fourth setting, stealing the breath out of Castiel’s chest. Thrusting into him, Dean set a fast and ruthless pace, shoving against his sweet spot, only to turn the dildo off again just as fast to resume the torturously slow slide of in and out only seconds after.

“So hot…” Dean mumbled. “So fucking beautiful…”

Once again the speed of the toy inside Castiel’s ass amped up, and once again Castiel’s eyes rolled back into his head when the assault upon his prostate returned, swift and erratic. It all disappeared far too fast, didn’t last even close to long enough to make the sparks in his gut burst into blissful flames of release.

The first setting clicked into place, the whirr dimming into a muted buzz, causing a needy, blubbering whimper to escape Castiel’s lips. Leaning against his the wall he hid his face in the crook of his elbow, the toy now humming leisurely against his insides, sending hot pulses throughout his body. There was no movement, no indication that Dean was planning to move it again, and without realizing it Castiel rocked back against the length buried inside him, shivering when he heard Dean give a pleased groan at the sight.

“Such a fucking slut for this aren’t you, Cas…” he mumbled, his hand coming up to stroke a wet stripe of hair away from Castiel’s forehead. “Do you wanna come?” he whispered softly. “Or do you want me to keep you like this a little while longer?”

“No…!” Cas gasped, his head shaking desperately with his eyes screwed shut.

“No, what?” Dean purred. Castiel keened, gulping down a breath as he rolled his hips pleadingly, fists curling against the wall.

“I—I can’t take it,” he sobbed. “I can’t take anymore, please… Dean, please…”

“You want me to make you come, angel?” Dean mumbled, brushing his hand over the wet tangles of Castiel’s hair to settle his fingers along his jawline, turning Cas’ face to the side to look at him. “You want me to toyfuck you until you splatter your load all over the wall?”

“Yes,” Cas whispered, forcing his eyes open to meet Dean’s gaze, “Please… let me come… Dean, please, I can’t—”

“If I do, will you let me fuck you afterwards?” Dean hummed, brushing his lips against Castiel’s own. “Because I’d like that, Cas, to fuck your used hole with my cock. My _real_ cock.”

“Yes,” Castiel moaned, the imagery making his head sear. “Anything you want, I’ll do anything…! Anything, just let me— Let me come, I beg you _…_ ”

Dean looked at him, tilting his head to the side with a contemplative smile as he studied Castiel’s face. Taking in the pleading twitch of his eyebrows, the glistening droplets clinging to the lashes of glazed over eyes to eventually trickle down the corner of an open mouth. Satisfied with what he saw, Dean’s smile widened, and then he pressed a rough, greedy kiss against Castiel’s already parted lips at the same time as he flipped the toy up the final two settings in one go.

Castiel’s froze, his body stiff and tense for a split second before he broke away from the kiss with a loud yell. His eyes clamped shut, incoherent words tumbling from his lips in a mix of ragged groans and a repeated litany of ‘Dean, oh, please, oh, please, Dean…!’.

The moaning chant rose into a hoarse cry and Castiel pushed himself back against the toy inside him, riding it with the final, fraying pieces of coherency he had left. His cocked strained towards his stomach in rough, uncontrolled twitches, streaking the wall in dripping stripes of white as he came, every muscle on his body trembling from the effort to simply stay upright.

He barely had the time to come down from his high before the dildo was pulled out of him. He was spun around, Dean’s mouth latching onto his with a snarl that sent his eyes fluttering. Before he had time to react, or even figure out how it was supposed to work, Dean had pulled both of Castiel’s legs up to wrap around his waist, hoisting him up at the same time as he pressed Castiel back against the wall.

Castiel’s arms flailed to the side, chasing after something to hold on to, something to support himself with to keep from slipping down. He found nothing but slick stone tiles, wet with water, and his desperate clawing ended with his right hand wrapped around the back of Dean’s neck while the left one pressed back against the wall in a poor attempt to help support his weight.

Dean’s grip shifted, moving from his knees to wrap around the globes of his ass. For a horrifying second, Castiel was convinced that he was going to fall, but his startled yelp morphed into a meek groan when he felt Dean slip inside him with an ease that terminated whatever thought process he had managed to recollect.

Dean was fucking into him, hard and rough, thrusting and grunting out silent curses against his lips in between sloppy, needy kisses that never seemed to stop. Cas could feel Dean’s pulse race under the palm of his hand, the girth of Dean’s cock filling him up and pounding against his already over sensitized prostate, and he could still feel the electrical buzz of his previous orgasm course through him, causing his limbs to twitch and spasm under the jet from the shower.

Jesus, if Dean kept this up, he was going to milk him dry. He could feel the heat of a second climax claw its way up his spine already, sizzling and churning, his gut clenching from the sudden realization that Dean was actually going to make him come for a second time in less than a minute.

The sound that left his mouth as he tried to say Dean’s name didn’t even sound human, his voice raw and shaking the syllable apart. Dean’s hands squeezed around his ass, a finger reaching to rub against the furled rim where the swell of Dean’s cock disappeared inside him, and Castiel’s head lolled back against the tiles with a breathless groan because yeah, oh, yes that was it, just like that, oh, please…!

“Fuck me,” he hissed, his hand slipping over Dean’s skin to grab a cruel hold of the short hair at the back of the other’s head. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come again, just— Shit, keep going. Don’t you dare come yet. Not yet, you hear me?”

Dean nodded, his mouth falling open in a breathless whimper when Castiel tugged at his hair, forcing him to look up at him.

“Yeah… Yeah just like that…” Cas breathed. “Just give it to me… Give it to me, Dean, c’mon…”

Dean’s eyelids fluttered, his eyes losing their focus for a second before they went wide, clear green darting up to stare at him in bewildered panic.

“Don’t stop,” Cas ordered sharply, sensing how Dean began to slow down.

“I’m gonna come…” Dean objected weakly.

“Don’t _stop_ ,” Cas hissed. “I’m so close, I’m— Oh, God, faster… I need you _faster_ …”

Dean gritted his teeth, the muscles in his back flexing. Castiel’s eyes slid shut with a sharp intake of breath when Dean’s hips snapped forward and up, pinning him against the vertical surface behind him so hard he felt the air rush out of his lungs on impact. Then Dean’s hand was on him as strong fingers curled around his cock, jacking him off hard, and fast, and yes, yes, _yes…!_

“Fuck,” he gasped. “Oh fuck, Dean, fuck…!”

“Come with me…” Dean grated. “Come with me, Cas…”

Castiel’s mouth fell open, a scream without sound tumbling off his tongue as the blue of his eyes disappeared beneath heavy eyelids when Dean’s hips gave three final, brutal shoves against his prostate. He came, again, the world shattering around him like brittle planes of pure glass, europhoria bursting through his mind and whiting it out in a single, unrelenting blow.

He felt Dean’s forehead press in against the side of his neck, the other man’s breath rushing over the planes of his skin in short, ragged gasps, making his limbs quake. His fingers twitched helplessly against Dean’s scalp with a strung out whimper, his climax still working through his system when the sharp sound of Dean’s hitched breath reached his ears.

Hips shoving forward, Dean came with a growl so primal it made goosebumps ripple across Castiel’s limbs, the sound of it crashing against his neck and making his own breath stutter. Fingers dug into flesh, Dean’s pelvis rolling as he spilled his release inside Castiel’s body with a desperation that normally would have been embarrassing, but which at this precise, limb shaking, heart racing, mind blowing moment felt nothing short of amazing.

Castiel’s head was still swimming when he felt his feet touch back onto the floor. Dean’s hands slowly let up on their grip and slipped away, leaving him sagging against the wall on wobbly legs, every last muscle in his body feeling like an overcooked noodle. If it hadn’t been for Dean’s body, which was still pinning him against the tiles, he would never have been able to keep himself upright.

He opened his mouth, chest still heaving as he grasped for the part of his brain where words were supposed to be made, but came up with nothing but a vast, blank space. Closing his mouth again, he felt the fingers still clutching around Dean’s neck give a spasmodic twitch, sending both Dean and himself into a shivering fit under the rush of the water still falling down upon them both.

“Jesus Christ…” Dean panted, rubbing his forehead against the side of Castiel’s neck with a groan, “Are you seriously trying to kill me?”

“Speak for yourself…” Cas murmured, leaning his head back with a silent thud against the tiles.

God, he felt as if his entire body had fallen asleep. His head was foggy, his eyesight cluttered with dancing, shining spots and flashes of bright, white light that seemed to echo throughout his entire being. His body tingled, millions and millions of ants crawling underneath the layers of his skin, and when the scratch of Dean’s stubbled chin rasped against his neck he let out a choked giggle, bringing his shoulder up to shield himself from the suddenly horrible tickling sensation.

“This again, Cas? Really?” Dean laughed, looking at the squirming man with a wide grin. “We’ve been over this you know, post-orgasm-sensitivity isn’t a real thing.”

He reached out to splay his hand over the quivering muscles of Castiel’s stomach, smearing at the spunk caught in the faint trail of hair there, but Cas flinched away with a panicked squawk, grabbing Dean’s wrist to hold him off.

“No, d—don’t touch me…!” he chuckled, squirming to get as far away from Dean’s fingers as he possibly could inside the confined space of the shower.

“But I want to cuddle you,” Dean objected with exaggerated enthusiasm, pushing in to rub his chin against the undefended side of Castiel’s neck and shoulder, punching another startled snort of laughter out of Castiel’s lungs.

“C’mere, just one hug, don’t be such a child!” he crowed.

“No…!” Cas pleaded, feeling the spidery touch of fingertips brush against his ribs, “Dean, stop! Stop, you know I can’t handle t— Dean, n—no! _Stop!_ ”

Dean laughed, a low rumble that traveled through Castiel’s chest like the purr from a large jungle cat, but he stopped tickling him. Castiel slumped back against the wall, the phantom tingles of both beard and fingertips wrecking shivers through his limbs. It took all he had not to flinch when he felt Dean’s lips move to flutter a teasing kiss over the beat of his pulse.

He sighed, closing his eyes, a few more tired chuckles fleeing his mouth as Dean continued to kiss his way up his jaw, lips moving to the corner of his mouth before finally pressing firmly against his own, teeth nibbling softly on the flesh of his lower lip before gently pulling away again.

“I hate you,” Castiel murmured, an exhausted smile threatening to curve the corner of his mouth. He managed to keep it at bay, letting a crossed pout seep into the tone of his voice as he layered his face into a scolding frown.

“C’mon, I made you laugh, didn’t I?” Dean coaxed, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel’s teeth clamped down over his lower lip to keep himself from chuckling again, quickly restoring his poker face when he felt Dean’s touch leave his skin as the other man straighten up.

“Hey…” Dean nudged him in the side with his elbow, making Cas squint an eye open to glare at him. Dean leaned in and placed another, bordering to apologetic kiss on Castiel’s lips, but when he pulled back to lean his forehead against Castiel’s own, his lips stretched out into a wide grin, fingers moving in to ghost threateningly against the jut of Cas’ hip.

Castiel immediately broke out in a fit of snorted giggles, the serious mask crumbling helplessly when a thumb jabbed him in the side. He grappled for Dean’s hands, prying them off his body with a sharp yelp, practically curling in on himself in order to get away.

After a short wrestling match, Dean somehow ended up pressed into the inner corner of the shower. Castiel, spotting his chance, immediately snatched the showerhead out of its holder and aimed it towards Dean’s unprotected body, twisting the thermostat of the mixer as far into the blue field as it would go. Moments later, the echoes of Dean’s panicked cries of ‘ _Cas!_ ’ and ‘ _For fuck’s sake turn it_ off!’ could be heard all the way down to the fourteenth floor.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The End

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it guys. The final chapter.  
> Thank you all, so, so, so much for reading this story. Your support and praise has been incredible, and I'm grateful for each and every comment, bookmark and kudos that I've recieved from you.
> 
> However, since there's been an overwhelming amount of comments saying that they don't want the story to be over, I can now also officcially say that I will also be posting at least one bonus chapter sometime in the near future :)  
> I haven't decided yet if it will be posted as a stand-alone one shot, or if I'll add it as another chapter, I need to learn how the whole "this work is part of a series" linking thing works here on Ao3 first, haha, but it will be posted, I promise. 
> 
> Also, I've gotten a few questions about when the transition of "Our Sweet Rapture" will be moved here to Ao3 as well, and as some of you may already know, I'm in a dire need of beta readers for that one story at the moment. I have recieved a few offers already, and I'm gonna get back to the people who sent them ASAP, so hopefully, the first chapter of Rapture will be post ready in about a week or two. Otherwise, I'll just have to post it without it being Betad, but it hurts my heart to do so, haha.
> 
> Again, thank you all, so, so much, from the bottom of my heart. You're all amazing, and I'm lucky to have been given the honor of your time and attention. I hope you all get to have a great day, and hopefully, I'll see you again soon :)
> 
> Take care <3


	15. A Boyfriend's Guide to Air Travel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel offers Dean to come with him on an all expences paid trip to New York, and Dean happily accepts.  
> At least, he's happy up until the point where he finds out that they're supposed to go there on a plane...
> 
> See end notes for more detailed tags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oneshot chapter, just because the thought of Dean on a plane with Cas intruiged me so XD  
>  **Please see end notes for more detailed tags.**  
>  Enjoy!

 

When the phone rang, Dean was still sound asleep, and the shrill sound of the ringtone cut through his brain like an icicle, making him groan and bury his face deeper amongst the pillows. 

The phone, as usual, was located on Castiel’s side of the bed, and Dean had to sit up in order to reach it. The horrible chiming noise came to an abrupt halt when he finally managed to fumble the device out of its holder with an exasperated grunt. Man, they really needed to figure out how to change that ringtone…

“Yeah?” he grumbled, flopping down onto his back to pull the covers back over himself.

“Why, good morning to you too.”

“Cas?” Dean  frowned, trying to wipe the sleep out of his eye with the heel of his hand when he heard the familiar sound of his boyfriend’s voice through the receiver. 

“Yes, it’s me,” Castiel confirmed with what Dean identified as a smile. “Are you still in bed?”

“Last time I checked, that’s what ‘taking the day off to sleep in’ usually means,” Dean answered testily, throwing an eye at the alarm clock on the bedside table, groaning when he found that it only showed eight fifteen. 

Unlike his charming partner, he was not a morning person, and he  _ hated _ it when people woke him up earlier than he had planned. 

“Why are you calling?” he grumbled. “Did you forget something?”

“I suppose that depends on how you see it,” Castiel answered cryptically. Dean frowned, suddenly wide awake. He had come to learn pretty quickly that the cheerful tone of Castiel’s voice, in combination with that answer, could mean both horrible and wonderful things, depending on context.

“What?” He said with a squint, not even attempting to hide his suspicion. Castiel chuckled.

“You know my business trip this afternoon?” he asked sweetly and Dean snorted as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“You mean the one where you go away to stay at a fancy hotel over the weekend with another man?” he recalled dramatically. “How could I forget?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Castiel answered, not paying his little comment any attention. “Anyway, as it turns out, Steven can’t go. He was up last night with a fever. ‘Shaking and hurling like a newborn calf with a stomach virus’, according to the inofficial version of the memo.”

“That doesn’t sound very pleasant...” Dean grimaced and again, Castiel chuckled.

“I’m sure he feels the same way. However, Edenstar can’t get hold of anyone to take his place in time for the trip, so it would seem as if I’ll have to do this one on my own. And since both tickets and the hotel have already been paid for, I asked Joshua if I could bring someone else with me.”

“Okay…?” Dean answered slowly, smiling as the purpose of this conversation began to clear. 

“How fast can you pack a suitcase?” Castiel asked. Dean shrugged, in spite of being on the phone.

“Do you have a spare nearby?” he countered.

“Hallway closet, above the shoe rack.”

“Then half an hour, maybe less.”

“Good, then I’ll pick you up in less than an hour,” Cas concluded, sounding extremely satisfied. “Make sure to pack a shirt and tie, I don’t think the hotel restaurant will let us in unless we dress up.”

“Wow,” Dean whistled. “Where are we staying exactly, The Hilton?”

“Close,” Castiel revealed. “We’ve got a suite at the Four Seasons Hotel.”

Dean felt the world around him shift a little. A whole goddamn suite, Jesus Christ…

“Edenstar sure don’t screw around, do they?” he breathed out once he found his voice again.

“It’s all about giving the right impression,” Castiel smiled. “Our potential partners will be more eager to do business with us if they see that our company can afford to house their representatives in a luxury hotel during the stay. It gives a certain edge to the negotiations,” he added slyly.

“Clever,” Dean admitted with a raised brow. 

“Very,” Castiel confirmed smugly. Dean laughed, stretching himself out on the bed with a lewd groan.

“Alright, Top Shot,” he grinned. “When exactly are we leaving?”

“The flight leaves at one fifteen, but we have to check in our luggage at least two hours in advance. I was thinking I’ll swing by to pick you up around nine? Then we could stop at Chuck’s and grab something to eat on our way to the airport?”

“Flight?” Dean jackknifed up from the bed, back rod straight. “Last week I thought you said you were going by train?”

“I was, but there were too many transfers,” Castiel explained with a sigh, “It would have taken forever.”

“So we’re… going on a  _ plane? _ ”

“Unless you’ve found a way to spontaneously sprout wings, then yes, we are,” Castiel smiled, missing out on the catch in Dean’s throat. “Listen, I have to run, but I’ll call before I leave to make sure you’re ready. Don’t go back to sleep!”

And just like that Dean found himself in the middle of the bed, staring down at the now silent phone in his hand. Falling back against the pillows he let out a heaving breath, a block of ice forming inside his gut as his brain caught up with what kind of deal he had just agreed to.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Alright, so maybe Dean had secretly been hoping that his fear of flying would remain a well kept secret from Cas for at least a little while longer. 

Technically, they had only been together for about two months now – not counting the weeks when they had been dancing around one another without knowing who the other really was, or the months prior to that. 

It wasn’t that he thought Cas wouldn’t understand, because Cas would, without a doubt. The reason why he would rather have Cas not ever finding out about it at all was because… Well, if he had to be completely honest with himself, Dean found the truth about his irrational fear of airplanes to be a bit… embarrassing. 

Dean had an  _ image _ , and he had put a lot of work into that image over the years; mechanic skills, leather jackets, vintage muscle cars, rock’n’roll music… Those were all pretty bad ass things to be associated with. Very  _ manly _ things. Not being able to watch Air Force One without breaking out in a cold sweat was, needless to say, not.

He knew that Castiel didn’t care whether he drove the Impala or a Ford Fiesta. The two of them were way past that sort of thing now, considering the rather unique history of their relationship. Nevertheless, he was very thankful that Castiel so far hadn’t bothered to ask about his behavior regarding heights or flying, even though Dean was sure that Cas suspected that something was up. 

So yes, they lived on the thirteenth floor. And  _ yes, _ Dean was not particularly fond of the open walkway that led from the elevator to their apartment door. It reminded him too much of those traitorous mountain ledges he had seen in far too many action movies to be comfortable with…  

And so what if he didn’t spend his days staring out the rather  _ ginormous _ window that covered the entire left side of their living room wall? It wasn’t like he had any particular interest in cloud watching. He’d rather look at the TV, or read a book. The sky looked the same from the ground, so it didn’t make a difference anyway.

It wasn’t as if the thought of spending the weekend with Castiel in a luxury hotel room, all expenses covered, was something he didn’t look forward to, because he  _ did _ . He wasn’t ignorant; he knew very well that chances like this didn’t come along that often, but  _ why _ in the Seven Planes of  _ Hell _ did there have to be  _ airplanes _ involved?

Honestly, what was wrong with a good old fashioned road trip?

When Cas came around to pick him up at exactly nine o’clock, Dean was practically shaking in his boots. After Castiel had performed a quick go-through of Dean’s things, adding a few items that Dean had completely missed out on during his absentminded packing, they were on their way out the door, to Dean’s internal dismay.

They drove to Chuck’s and bought themselves bagels and coffee. Dean, who normally would have thrown himself over the toasted bun in front of him, ate about half and then left the rest sitting on his plate. The wave of nausea that washed over him when he realized that the quicker he ate, the quicker they would be going to the airport was more than enough to make him wish he hadn’t begun eating in the first place. 

He noticed that Cas threw a puzzled look at his half eaten meal, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Dean quickly excused himself to the bathroom, leaving his boyfriend sitting by the table in abandoned solitude. It was a shitty move, Dean knew that, but he didn’t have the presence of mind to bother with common courtesies at the moment… 

Of course, his attempts to drag out the time was a fruitless struggle, and their departure from Chuck’s Bagels could not be put off forever. Soon, they were back in the car, making a left turn to follow the first, foreboding sign towards the airport. Dean was more than prepared fake whatever sickness poor Steven might currently have, if only it would allow him to stay with his feet firmly planted on the ground for just a little while longer.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

They parked at the airport’s long term car park, got out, and as Dean pulled their bags out of the trunk, a deafening roar filled the air above their heads. Turning around, Castiel spotted a Boeing-747 as it came soaring over the top of the terminal, heading for the runway stretching out on the other side.

“Isn’t it remarkable that something that big is actually able to fly?” he called out over his shoulder, expecting some sort of response. When none came he turned around, only to find Dean resolutely looking down into the depths of the trunk, his jaw set and with white-knuckled fingers firmly clutched around the two bags still in his hands. It was a disturbing picture; wrong and unsettling in so many ways, and Castiel was not sure what he was supposed to make of it.

“Dean?” he repeated, and Dean’s head snapped up like a dog’s upon hearing a dog whistle.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, taking a step closer. Dean nodded and let out a low ‘Mhm’ between tightly pressed lips. Without a second look, he then turned away and started walking towards the main entrance to the airport, both bags in hand.

Castiel watched him go with a worried twinge stirring his stomach. He sighed as he took in the tense square of Dean’s shoulders and twitchy, hurried strides, before he resolutely closed the trunk, locked the car, and hurried after him.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Checking in their luggage didn’t take long, and once they were done, they headed towards the waiting hall appointed to their flight. Once there, they each took a seat next to the large, panoramic window in order to – as the name of the room suggested – wait for their gate to open and let them board the plane. 

Dean spent the entire time altering between studying his shoes and shifting nervously in his seat, all the while not speaking a single syllable more than he absolutely had to. It was an unsettling display to watch, and after just a few minutes, Castiel’s insides were practically itching with the need to make the other man sit back and  _ calm down _ .

Castiel wasn’t stupid. He knew that something wasn’t right, and he also had a pretty good suspicion about what that something might be. 

Naturally, Dean’s foul mood could have been provoked by the fact that Castiel had woken him up so rudely before; Dean was not a morning person after all. A tired Dean was a  _ grumpy _ Dean; a person Castiel for the sake of their relationship had come to learn it best to avoid. 

Or it could have been because the notice about their departure had been too sudden, but of course, Castiel knew better than that.

He had seen the way Dean would always stick close to the wall whenever they walked from the elevator to their front door. How he would always walk three steps behind Castiel rather than face the prospects of having to walk next to him on the outer half of the walkway. 

He had also seen the point Dean made of never going near their living room window, even though he made a big show of telling Castiel about how awesome the window was, at least twice a week. The times Cas had tried to make him come over and look at something, Dean had quickly disappeared out of earshot, or declared that he was too busy with something else. Even if that something was nothing more than reading a common magazine. 

No, Castiel wasn’t stupid, and he could tell that Dean was too embarrassed to admit that the thought of getting on an airplane scared him. So instead of confronting him about all those things, Castiel had made the quiet decision to keep his mouth shut about it. The last thing he wanted was to risk making it sound as if he thought Dean was some kind of coward; a decision that might have been a bad idea given their now current situation.

In an attempt to provide some comfort, he tried to strike up a conversation, but his efforts were not well received. Even though he tried to bring up subjects to keep Dean’s mind away from the thought of leaving ground, every single one of his politely posed inquires were answered with a short 'hn,’ 'mhm,' or a 'tch,' that left a tension in the air between them that made the skin on the back of his neck crawl.

The waiting hall for their flight was calm; no screaming kids or boisterous teenagers. Not that it mattered; Dean was being a downright physical embodiment of apprehension nonetheless. When the boarding announcement for their flight finally went out through the speakers, Castiel felt the way Dean flinched violently in his seat, like a spooked animal upon hearing a gunshot.

Just like that, the past hour of Castiel’s gathered attempts to cheer his partner up vaporized into thin air as they both stood up from their seats, moving to get in line to board their flight. 

Dean’s movements were twitchy, his muscles drawn tight. Castiel kept a close watch on him from the corner of his eye, wincing inwardly when he noted how the taller man seemed to grow even more irritable with every step they took.

"So… I was thinking,” he tried, attempting a second go at lightening up the mood by talking, “When we get to New York, do you want to go take a look at Times Square?" 

Predictably enough, he only got another, grumbled out ‘mhm,’ that held about as much enthusiasm as that of an unplugged refrigerator for an answer, and so he quickly dropped the conversation.

They walked through the gate and boarded the plane in silence, Dean throwing vicious glares at everything and everyone he happened to lay eyes on. Castiel suspected that he probably succeeded in scaring the smiles off at least half of the flight personnel on the way in alone. 

They were flying first-class, something Castiel had done plenty of times before, but he was still pleased to see the way Dean’s eyes widened when they were shown to their seats. For a moment, the other man actually seemed to completely forget the fact that they were even on a plane as he stared at the interior before them.

The seats were stylish in crème-colored leather with glossy, black details on the armrests. Each seat had a black glass table in front of it with an ashtray and a small, mounted vase containing a single, white rose. It was spacious and open, with plenty of legroom, and Castiel was fairly certain that out of all his travels, this was definitely the most exclusive flight he had ever been on. 

As soon as they sat down, however, Dean immediately snapped back to the present once more. He quickly buckled up and leaned back into the chair he had chosen, which as Castiel had predicted was the one furthest away from the window, his face grim. 

Castiel sat down next to him, discreetly tucking the in-case-of-emergency pamphlet on the table out of sight before Dean spotted it. When the flight personnel took place in the isles and the basic pre-flight information came streaming out from the speakers, Castiel heard Dean's breath go rigid and turned his face to look at him.

Dean was sitting with his head pressed hard into the seat, eyes screwed shut with his mouth moving almost unnoticeably. It only took Castiel a few seconds to recognize the words from “Enter Sandman” as they whispered past the other man’s lips in time with his breathing. When the plane started moving, Castiel saw how Dean’s grip around the armrests tightened, his knuckles turning almost white under the pressure when his entire body tensed up, wounding tighter and tighter like a coiled steel spring ready to snap.

Castiel had been flying back and forth across the country for several years in business, and in that time he had been able to experience a lot of things. Everything from people screaming hysterically, to people sitting completely frozen, too scared to even move during the whole flight. Right now, Dean was acting like someone being on the verge of deciding to do either one of those two things. 

When the plane lost contact with the ground below, Castiel reached out and gently placed his hand on top of Dean's, but Dean didn't show any signs of feeling the touch. His hands remained tightly curled around the armrests, lips still moving, and so Castiel leaned over, placing his head on Dean’s shoulder to whisper into his ear.

"Dean,” he murmured softly, “are you feeling alright?"

"Mhm." Dean didn't even open his eyes as he answered, and Castiel sighed.

"You know, if you keep your jaw in motion, you'll decrease the risk of getting an ear blockage," he offered helpfully.

"I know."

That was all the response he got, and Dean kept his eyes firmly shut until the little chime that announced that it was now safe to remove the seatbelts was heard. Dean kept his on, too scared to take it off, yet Castiel allowed himself a few moments of relaxation, seeing as there was still a blissful absence of screaming. Even though he felt immensely sympathetic for his partner’s situation, he was still extremely grateful for the fact that they at least weren’t causing a scene.

They had been in the air for less than ten minutes when Dean's face turned a sickly shade of pale, his throat struggling to swallow. Castiel watched as Dean abruptly unbuckled his seatbelt and got up, disappearing without a word down the walkway and in through the door to the plane’s toilet. 

Castiel waited, throwing worried glances after his disappearing boyfriend, but Dean returned almost immediately, his face still pale as ever as he silently slumped back into his chair.

Once again, Castiel thought about trying to lighten things up by talking, but it was fairly obvious that Dean wasn't in the mood. Castiel’s heart ached at the sight of him, because Jesus, Dean looked as if he was about to faint at any given second.

He was about to ask if he should ask one of the stewards to bring them some water when Dean abruptly stood up for a second time, disappeared down the aisle to the toilet once more. As Castiel watched, Dean proceeded to slam the door behind him with a loud bang that made the people in the front row jump in their seats.

Okay, so Dean was afraid of flying, there was not a grain of doubt in Castiel’s mind about that now, had there ever been one, but why the hell hadn’t Dean told him it was  _ this _ bad when Castiel asked him to come along? 

Right now he felt like the worst boyfriend in the history of mankind, putting Dean through this, and it was all made worse by the fact that Dean apparently refused to even admit that he was scared!

The door to the toilet opened again and Dean came out, only to disappear back inside just as fast as he had emerged.

Castiel groaned and reached beneath the seat for his carry-on suitcase. He normally didn’t mind that Dean put on this macho-guy façade when they were out in public, but this was getting ridiculous! Something needed to be done, and fast, before Dean ended up hurling himself straight into a panic attack.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Dean hunched over the sink, breathing heavily through his nose as he prepared himself for the sour taste of vomit to fill his mouth. Just like last time, it never came, leaving his stomach churning and his throat to flex around his windpipe in upset, angry pulses.

God, he hated flying.

He  _ hated _ it!

He hated the airports, the speakers, the planes, the seats, the food, he hated  _ everything _ !

What kind of an idiotic  _ moron _ was it that came up with the idea that humans were supposed to  _ fly _ in the first place anyway?

He held back a new wave of nausea as he tried to focus on the little dark circle that made out the center of the sink, his gaze blurred and unsteady. Usually, he would have thrown up in the toilet, but there was something about having his face hovering over the ring of a public toilet seat, first-class or not, that just disgusted him beyond reason. Not even here, where everything was sparkling white and clean could he bring himself to do it. 

So he went for the sink. The rather  _ large  _ sink.

As a matter of fact, it was a rather large bathroom, for being on a plane. Had he not been busy grappling the edges of the basin, he would have been able to stretch both his arms out in either direction without even touching the walls. Damn, they even had space enough to keep a plant in there.

Who the hell brought a  _ plant _ onto a fucking  _ airplane _ ?

Of course, travelling first class wasn’t like any ordinary airplane ride, he knew that much. Just thinking about the leather seats, the glass tables… the flower vases.

Fuck, he must've looked pretty out of place out there with his old leather jacket, torn up jeans and heavy boots. Like a rat on a banquette. Next to Castiel, he probably looked like some sort of charity case, but right now he didn't really care about whether he fit in with the environment or not. He was too busy panicking to be bothered about something as trivial as appearance.

A loud snapping sound was heard from somewhere beneath him and he immediately tensed up, vivid images of the floor cracking open underneath his feet soaring through his mind. He quickly leaned back over the sink again, feeling his throat flex when he tried to swallow down the lump that had suddenly lodged itself in its center.

Stupid, fucking airplane…! How was he supposed to concentrate on throwing up when it kept screwing with his head all the time?  _ God _ , he hated flying… In fact, he wouldn't be the slightest surprised if the plane decided to start falling apart around him this very insta— 

He almost had a full on heart attack when the door suddenly cracked opened right next to him. He whirled around with a startled gasp, staring in wide eyed confusion at the dark haired man who stepped inside the very second after.

"God damnit, Cas!" he groaned, leaning heavily against the sink once he realized who it was, grasping over his pounding heart as if his hand could keep it from come crashing through his ribcage, if only he squeezed hard enough.

"What?" Castiel asked innocently, closing and locking the door behind him before turning back to Dean with an inquisitive look. One which Dean returned with a vicious glare.

"You scared the shit out of me!” he snapped, waving towards the door. “I thought I locked that!"

"You did," Castiel answered simply. Ignoring Dean’s gaping mouth, he then moved over to the toilet seat opposite from the sink, tucking something that looked like a metallic piece of wire back into the pocket of his suit pants.

"What's that?" Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously at him and Castiel smirked.

“It  _ was _ a paper clip,” he explained patiently. “Right now, it’s just useless.”

“You unlocked the door with a piece of office equipment?” Dean asked incredulously. “Is that what you do at your job for kicks; sneak up on people while they're taking a leak?" 

“I spent my teenage years living in the streets,” Castiel reminded politely. “You don’t think I figured out how to pick a lock?”

Dean licked his lips, feeling an odd sense of pride and bewilderment shove its way through the nausea in his stomach. Damnit, he kept forgetting about that. Castiel carried the image of being just another office suit so well, it completely camouflaged the rebel Dean knew resided in there, at the very core of the other’s being. 

Castiel knew how to pick locks, shoplift without being detected and was also, as Dean had discovered a few days ago, a pretty decent pickpocket; all of them skills he had acquired in his youth because of the unconditional fact that he  _ had to _ . Not that he had been forced to use them very often; Gabriel had mostly managed to provide them with enough money to make by, but there had been bad times… Castiel may have a moral compass the size of a blue whale, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t know how to bend the rules in his favor; his and Dean’s joined past being evident proof of just that. 

“Great, my boyfriend thinks he’s frickin’ MacGyver…” Dean sighed, turning back to lean over the sink again with a tired groan.

"Aren't you feeling well?" Castiel asked the back of the other’s jacket, getting a new groan for an answer.

"Probably just something I ate,” Dean tried feebly, waving him off. “It’ll pass."

The soft rustle of clothing made its way to his ears as Castiel moved to stand behind him. He shuddered when he felt a hand slowly trail through the messy spikes at the top of his head, moving down to his back to rub it soothingly through the leather of his jacket. 

Dean closed his eyes at the touch, sighing quietly as he leaned his head against the cool metal of the tap. He felt Castiel slot up against his back, nuzzling against the planes of Dean’s shoulder blades with his nose, sending a soft tremor down his spine. He felt Castiel move his other hand around to massage Dean’s left bicep with tender, loving fingers, before letting the one on Dean’s back dipped down to splay over his stomach, pushing him back against the solid span of Castiel’s chest. 

When the same hand moved to slither under his t-shirt, snaking its way across his stomach and up his chest, Dean sighed again. A moan slipped from his lips when Castiel leaned forward to press a soft, fluttering kiss against the base of his neck, and he felt the goosebumps rise like a tidal wave in the wake of the other’s lips. It felt good. In a calming and slightly distracting kind of way…

“Dean…?” Castiel murmured against his skin, the brush of his mouth making Dean shiver in spite of himself. “Can I ask you something?”

Dean nodded, and he tilted his head to the side in invitation for Castiel to kiss him again, which Castiel did, tender and slow, as if he was afraid that Dean would break beneath if he applied too much pressure.

“Are you afraid of flying?”

Dean let out a silent gasp as the soft purr of Castiel’s voice wound itself into his brain, making his shoulders tense.

The question should have been anticipated, he knew that, but it had still managed to catch him off guard. For a few seconds, the only sound heard was the faint rumble of the engines around them, the close to insignificant space between them gaping silent in a short, breathtaking moment. Then Dean’s mind snapped back into gear, his shields slamming up so fast they left his head spinning.

“Are you nuts?” he said with a snort, trying to straighten up and shrug Castiel’s hands off of him. “I told you, it’s just that bagel acting up. Chuck must’ve used some bad meat or something.”

Alright, so blaming Chuck wasn’t exactly fair, but before he could make a more convincing argument, there were suddenly  _ two  _ hands beneath the fabric of his clothes; two sets of fingers making their way to his nipples, causing his breath to hitch and his eyes to flutter close.

Oh, that was a dirty trick…! That was a really,  _ really _ dirty trick…!

"I’m going to ask you again..." Castiel whispered, his voice calm and steady, as if the hands moving underneath Dean's shirt didn't belong to him at all, but with such a persuasive tone it made Dean’s stomach tighten with the need to comply to anything it said. 

"...  _ are you afraid of flying _ ?"

Dean opened his eyes, his lips parting to give Castiel a quick, snappish response, but both his eyes and mouth quickly closed again when the pad of Castiel's fingers squeezed his nipples underneath his shirt. He swallowed down a groan, grappling for Castiel's hands through his clothes to halt them in their ministrations.

"Why do you ask?" he countered, by some miraculous effort managing to keep his voice steady. Castiel simply gave a low chuckle in turn, the heat of his breath ghosting its way under the edge of Dean’s collar.

"It's quite obvious," Castiel hummed as he pressed his body closer, efficiently pinning Dean’s own against the sink as the fingers not held in place by Dean’s hands skimmed short, distracting caresses over his chest. "You’re so distant…” he heard Castiel whisper, butterfly kisses slowly trailing down his neck to provoke a new shudder through Dean’s limbs. “I try so hard, and yet I can’t seem to make you come back to me… All because of this stupid airplane.”

The hands underneath Dean’s t-shirt resumed their work, making Dean arch into the touch, but in spite of the knowledge that his cover had been blown, he still managed a lowering snort.

"You're imagining things, Cas," he huffed, trying to squirm out of the grip of the other’s arms.

"Am I now?"

One of the hands left its perch underneath Dean's shirt and slowly slid down his thigh, kneading it firmly.

"You're a horrible liar, Dean," Cas whispered softly. Using the grip on Dean’s thigh, he set up a swaying motion against Dean’s back, sliding his hands up to cup Dean’s through the fabric of his jeans. "Tell me what’s going on,” he mumbled. “Let me help you…" The soft plea was followed by an instant press of hips against the curve of Dean’s ass, rocking Dean into the palm of Castiel’s hand.

Dean could feel Castiel’s forehead lean in against his neck, breath ghosting over his skin, and fuck, that was distracting. That was really, really distracting, and Dean gritted his teeth, cursing the fact that his boyfriend knew him so well...

"It's not the plane..." he grumbled. He felt the movement of Castiel’s answering nod through his jacket, full lips moving higher to brush fleetingly across the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

"Then what is it?" Castiel wondered. His voice was so calm, so steady as the words were whispered out against the shell of Dean’s ear, the sincere concern Dean heard in them completely contradicted by the teasing nibble of teeth that followed soon after.

"It's— It’s the space...” he confessed, a light tremble to his voice. “The height."

"So you're afraid of heights then?" Castiel concluded, and how could he sound so god damn  _ calm? _ The fucker was sounding as if he was talking to Dean standing on the corner of a busy street in broad daylight, not molesting him inside an airplane toilet 35 thousand feet up in the air!

“If you have to put a label on it,” Dean sneered under his breath, feeling his cheeks heat up. Castiel hummed and nodded again, nuzzling his mouth closer to the sensitive skin just below Dean’s ear.

"You're afraid…” The lips trailed down, planting soft kisses and shallow licks over his neck. “… that this floor will open up beneath you..." Dean vaguely detected the sound of a zipper being undone and realized too late, and with a sense of absent surprise, that it originated from his own jeans. "... and let you  _ fall _ …" 

The whispered word hit Dean like a sledgehammer to the chest, the dry velvet of Castiel’s voice causing his skin to prickle hot and cold all over. He barely managed to stifle a startled gasp when Castiel reached into his now open fly to continue the massaging movement through Dean's boxers; bringing his already half erect member to full life before easily slipping his hand beneath the hem of the soft fabric.

"Am I getting warmer?" Castiel asked, sounding like the sexual assault on Dean's penis was being done by someone else entirely. Dean bit back a moan when the pad of Castiel's thumb slowly rubbed over the head of his cock, trailing down to follow the thickening vein underneath it before slowly moving back up again.

Dean knew that he was caught, that he could deny his phobia and lie through his teeth until his tongue fell out, and it still wouldn’t change a thing. Cas knew him too well, and to lie… Well, they both knew that lying to Castiel upfront had never really been an option anyway.

"I blame it on Hollywood," he groaned, trying to save what was left of his dignity with some old fashioned sarcasm, holding his breath when he felt Castiel tense up behind him briefly, before letting out a low, throaty chuckle.

"I see...” he whispered slowly, the wicked smile in his voice making Dean’s heart race. “Then I'll blame this on the porno-industry.”

The hand underneath Dean’s t-shirt abruptly disappeared, and with a rough pull by the shoulder, Dean was spun around, Castiel’s lips crashing against his to push him back against the sink in one of those incredibly hot kisses that made fireworks go off inside Dean’s head. 

Dean didn’t have to be told that he was not the one in charge of this. Castiel didn't even give him a chance to catch his breath when they finally broke apart before he dove in for a second kiss, growling in his throat like a predatory animal.

Dean felt his jacket get yanked off his shoulders and viciously thrown to the side before Castiel's hands returned to grab him by the hair, pulling his head back to expose his neck and throat for Castiel to abuse freely with his lips and tongue. Dean's attempt to hold back his moans failed and morphed into a breathless whimper when Castiel's teeth graced his pulse, giving him the shivers.

Suddenly his jeans and boxers were piled around his feet and he was spun around again, facing the mirror above the sink with Castiel's grip in his hair still holding his face up to the light. When his eyes met with Cas’s in the mirror, Castiel smiled, letting one of his hands reach down to grope firmly at Dean's naked ass.

Dean threw himself to the side in a half-hearted attempt to escape Castiel's grip; not that he really wanted to escape, but more to let Cas know that he wasn’t going to let himself be manhandled that easily. Castiel however, was already a step ahead of him, and fuck, Dean always forgot how strong the other was. The reminder was immediate as Castiel shoved him forward once more, crowding him against the sink and locking his one arm against the porcelain with a clutch of his free hand.

"Behave,” he growled, pushing himself against Dean's back and rubbing his still clothed erection against Dean’s ass. "Or I’m gonna have to discipline you."

Dean’s stomach gave a violent flutter, the potential promise more than sufficient to get his attention. He had never made an attempt to hide the fact that he liked it rough, and having Castiel push him around, pull his hair and talk dirty to him like this was his greatest turn-on. He also knew for a fact that Castiel made sure to play that card as soon as he got a chance. 

However, it was also a silent agreement between the two that this little trick was only used as foreplay. When it came to the real deal, Dean had a tendency to switch roles and become the dominant one himself; usually following this up by pounding Castiel into the closest mattress, couch or other nearby furniture available until Cas collapsed in a pile of sexually fulfilled, quivering goo.

This here, right about now, would usually be the point where the tables got turned and Castiel would let him up, let him have his revenge… but when Dean made a second, more serious attempt to escape the fingers fisted in his hair, Castiel didn’t budge. 

Dean threw a confused glare into the mirror at the man behind him as he opened his mouth to snarl out a well formulated reprimand, but the unwavering look Castiel sent him in return made the protests freeze in his throat.

Castiel’s reflection was staring him down, summer blue eyes pinning him to the spot with a sincerity that made his knees go weak. Dean could tell, that look making it impossible to misinterpret, that this would not be like any other time… 

Their gazes stayed locked, Castiel’s regarding, studying, while Dean tried to determine exactly what was going on. For a moment, the air inside the bathroom thickened, a tension that balanced on the edge to aggression filling up the space between them. It stirred Dean’s inside, awakening some sort of adrenaline infused fight-or-flight reflex that made his pulse rise into a staggering staccato, rushing through his veins.

Then Castiel’s eyes softened, the hand in Dean’s hair dropping down to splay firmly over his heart, somehow both comforting and dominating at the same time.

"I want to help you forget about the space, Dean," Castiel said, his voice filled with a low, throbbing earnest that wound itself deep into Dean’s very core. “If you let me, I’ll make you forget about everything... About the plane, the sky… Even the height."

Dean closed his eyes, unable to face the way those eyes in the mirror where looking at him, feeling Castiel rub him slowly through his clothes when he moved in to lean against Dean’s back.

“I know that we usually do this differently,” he murmured, the hand still locked around Dean’s arm tightening momentarily. “But this time, I truly believe this way would be better.” 

A kiss pressed against Dean’s back, just a dry touch of lips through the washed out fabric of his t-shirt.

“Wouldn’t you agree with me?” Castiel asked softly.

Dean licked his lips, swallowing hard. 

Doing it differently… 

His abdomen clenched, the muscles there drawing tight as he tried to wrap his mind around what his boyfriend was suggesting, what he was  _ asking. _ Castiel must have sensed his hesitation, because the fingers around Dean’s wrist lightened up, the grip turning into a slow, soothing caress as the hand moved up and down his forearm, tickling the hairs there to make the skin rise with goosebumps.

“I’ll make it good for you…” Castiel whispered, not to coax, but to explain. “I promise.”

“I know,” Dean breathed, because really, he did. Castiel was a perfectionist, out to the very tip of his eyelashes. There was no way he would suggest doing something like this and then make it  _ bad _ .

“So…?” Another kiss sent a soft ripple down Dean’s spine. “What do you say?”

Dean stood quiet, taking a moment to compose himself, to find his center in the steady frame of Castiel’s arms before he swallowed again.

“You got any supplies?” he croaked, failing to cover up the way his voice cracked at the end of the sentence when he spoke. “I guess saliva could work if we use enough, but since we’re in a bit of a hurry…?”

His eyes drifted up, but when they met with Castiel’s in the mirror the other man shook his head firmly as he released Dean’s arm to pull something out of his back pocket. Dean stared at the tin foil square Castiel tossed into the sink before looking up to see him bring a second, larger one up, ripping the corner open with his teeth.

“How the hell did you get a pack of  _ lube _ through security?” he asked. Castiel glanced up at him through his lashes, spitting the ripped piece of foil onto the floor.

“You  _ are _ allowed to bring fluids and crèmes onboard as long as they’re in a zip-lock bag,” he pointed out. “As for the condom, I had it in my wallet, which I suppose is legal since security didn’t say anything about it. I’m guessing that it’s a pretty common sight.”

“Why did you even bring that with you?” Dean snorted. “To be prepared in case you’d happen to stumble over a willing partner in the waiting hall?"

“I’m travelling with you, aren’t I?” Castiel retorted with a suggestive look at Dean’s naked backside, and Dean shut his mouth with a mute snap. 

When Castiel’s hand moved to spread him wider with a firm grip around his asscheek, Dean’s eyes darted down to stare into the sink, his teeth digging into his lower lip, and he tensed when he felt something wet brush against his center. His muscles went rigid, tightening so hard they began to tremble, and Castiel stilled, looking at him through the mirror with a gaze that burned at the top of Dean’s head despite the fact that he couldn’t see it.

“Dean?” he asked carefully. 

Dean swallowed, his hands tightening around the edge of the sink, the thoughts running amok inside his head. 

Sure, Cas and him had fucked around a lot this past month—God knows the spark between them hadn’t changed since Dean moved into Cas’s apartment—and sure, Dean hadn’t exactly put up a fight those few times Cas had let his fingers stray too far from their ordinary path, but—  

Before he met Cas he wasn’t exactly a prude, but he had never gone as far as to let anyone shove something up his ass, even though he had done it to himself more than once. Which was the worst sort of hairsplitting argument ever, considering that he had no quarrels about shoving  _ his  _ dick up _ someone else’s _ ass. What Cas was suggesting  _ now, _ however, was way more than just the tip of a finger, and Dean wasn’t really sure if—  

“Dean?” Castiel repeated and Dean shook, a vicious tremor that made his teeth rattle. He felt his partner lean in closer, Castiel sliding his hand over to rub soothing circles against the side of his ribs as a new, dreaded question was spoken into Dean’s ear:

“You  _ have _ done this before…right?” 

For a short moment, Dean contemplated lying, he really did, but as usual what actually came out of his mouth when he opened it to answer was just another poor attempt of avoiding the question.

“Of course I have,” he grated out sarcastically. “Every day, whenever I get the chance.”

“So you haven’t?”

The flat tone of Castiel’s voice made Dean bite down on his own tongue, the embarrassment growing with each steady beat of his heart.

“No, I haven’t,” he spat into the basin, letting out a warning snarl when he heard Castiel chuckle a second after. 

“After all the fuss you made about me being a virgin… and now it turns out that you haven’t done it either?” Cas smiled, sounding as if Dean had just told him a joke.

Before Dean had the chance to answer, Castiel grabbed hold of his chin, turning his head to the side in order to press a long, passionate kiss against his lips. When he pulled back, Dean’s world was tilting slightly, and the heated flush he had felt on his cheeks a few seconds ago was now growing stronger for entirely different reasons.

“I’ll go slow...” Castiel breathed, lips brushing against Dean’s own in a promise that Dean could do nothing less than to trust wholeheartedly.

He nodded, throwing a quick look into the mirror when he turned back to face the sink, both arms resting on the edges of basin. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself when he heard the foil rustle behind him, and then his thoughts were roughly washed away when a single, slick finger pushed against his entrance.

He flinched as his body instinctively tried to pull away from the cold touch. Castiel’s arm quickly circled around his midsection to prevent him from going too far, and Dean hissed when the digit slowly slipped past the outer ring of muscles in his ass.

The finger started moving, pushing in and pulling out, making Dean’s breath coil hard and taut inside his chest.

"Don't tense up," Castiel scolded. Dean gritted his teeth as he let his head fall down even further.

"That’s easy for you to say..." he hissed.

"I know what I'm talking about,” Castiel murmured. “Relax."

“I’m  _ trying _ ,” Dean rasped. “I’m not— Fuck, I don’t know if I can—”

Dean gritted his teeth again, biting back a frustrated groan. This was  _ hard _ . Doing it himself had never felt like this, not this  _ intense _ .

Castiel’s hand, which had been gripping him around the waist, reached underneath the black fabric of his t-shirt once again, moving up to roll Dean’s right nipple in between its fingers with a twisting pinch that left Dean gasping into the sink.

He jerked, teeth clenched tight in attempt to keep his moans as quiet as possible while Castiel continued to fondle his chest. He hadn't forgotten about where they were, and if Castiel could open the door with a fricking paper clip, then he was fairly certain that the flight personnel could do the same with less.

He really didn't want anyone to get suspicious and open the door on them like this. Oh, the headlines to  _ that _ picture...

"Aah!" His eyes flew open when Castiel began to push a second finger inside him alongside the first, the digits spreading him wide and making him whimper.

"Ssh...” Castiel soothed. “It'll get easier." 

It was a promise, earnest and genuine, but Dean couldn’t help but feel the panic rise inside his chest, because fuck, this was only two fingers…! He had seen the size of Castiel’s cock plenty of times before, and there was no way he would be able to take that, no freaking way!

"It's too tight...!” he panted, “Cas, I can’t, it’s— Oh, God..."

The two fingers inside him began to perform some sort of scissoring motion, sending icy chills of heat up his spine. The panic inside his head were screaming at him to pull away, to escape the horrible friction threatening to split him open, but his body wouldn’t obey. It felt good, in some impossible, contradicting way, and he wanted more of it. More, but not this soon, not this fast…! 

He was sweating and trembling, his hands gripping the edge of the sink so tightly his knuckles cracked, and he couldn't believe that this was happening. There was no way that he was about to get fucked in an airplane toilet. How could he have agreed to this?

“Cas…” he panted, begging for attention. “Cas, please…!”

Castiel’s fingers slowed, responding to Dean's voice the very moment the plea left his mouth.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, but Dean just shook his head, panting heavily to catch his breath.

“Do you want me to stop?” Castiel prompted. Again, Dean shook his head, because he didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t  _ know _ .

Castiel was quiet for a moment, seemingly thinking his options through.

“Do you want me to continue?”

Dean nodded, swallowing hard.

“Just—” he grated, cutting himself off to swallow yet again. “Just go slower,” he ended meekly.

“Of course.”

Dean’s eyes fluttered close when Castiel started moving again, slower than before, but with the same, unyielding persistence. He willed himself to stay still, smothering the voice inside his head that tried to get him to move while Castiel worked him open, stretching him with a steady determination that seemed almost terrifying. 

Dean clenched his jaw, teeth gnashing together when a third digit joined to ones already pushed inside his ass, feeling his head spin as his knees grew weak. 

He was absolutely certain that he was going to die; that there was no way a for human body to take this sort of tension without being ripped apart—the fact that he had done this very same thing to Castiel several time before seemingly not of any relevance at the moment. 

His body tensed, and he held his breath, waiting and bracing himself for the horrible pain he was certain would come with the extra digit, but what he felt instead was a strange sensation of something giving out; as if a stubborn door had suddenly decided to surrender.

His eyes opened, his ragged breathing slowing down as his muscles relaxed as Castiel’s fingers moved inside him in an almost tender fashion. There was no pain, only a minor sense of discomfort that got almost completely made up for by the electric jolts of  _ something _ that raced up his spine with each steady pull of Castiel’s fingers. 

Staying still was almost damn near impossible. No matter how Dean tried, his hips seemed to have suddenly taken on a life of their own, twitching and rolling back to meet with the thrust of the digits inside him. Fuck, he must look like the neediest slut in the States where he was, bent over the sink like some kind of desperate bitch in heat. 

He was only slightly surprised to find that the description was actually turning him on.

"Dean…” Castiel breathed behind him, snapping his thoughts back to reality. Dean looked up, meeting with Castiel's eyes in the mirror, that blue gaze regarding him with an almost predatory calm.

“Do you know what I’d like to do right now?" Castiel asked, his fingers spreading to stretch Dean even further.

"Wha— What?" Dean moaned, but the only answer he got was a smirk, and then the fingers slowly pushed in a little bit deeper, curling in to press against  _ that _ spot inside him with frighteningly accurate precision.

Dean's eyes widened and his mouth opened in a silent yelp. A yelp that quickly turned into a strangled groan when Castiel repeated the action again.

One, two, three times, over and over, faster and faster until it took all that Dean had to keep himself from screaming out his pleasure into the sink. Perhaps he would even have done so if Castiel's hand hadn't suddenly clamped shut over his mouth. Dean was about to voice a protest when a soft knock was heard on the door, followed by the sound of a female’s voice calling from the other side.

_ "Excuse me, Sir, is everything alright in there?" _

The two men’s gazes locked in the mirror, and Dean’s heart froze when a calculated smirk slowly curled across Castiel’s lip.

"They didn't see me go in,” he whispered. “They think you're all alone…"

_ "Sir?" _

"You should answer the lady, Dean. Don't be rude."

Castiel released Dean's mouth, but the thrusting motions of his fingers didn’t stop. Insteadm they speeded up; going fast, harder, in and out. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut, his fingers balling into trembling fists against the edges of the sink, struggling to keep his voice under control.

"I—I'm fine!" he called out, a pathetic whine cracking his sentence in half. "Something I ate that’s… a—all."

He tried to glare at Castiel in the mirror, but his boyfriend just canted his head forward, as if pleased with Dean’s performance. To Dean’s relief, Castiel then pulled his fingers out, momentarily letting Dean go in order to turn on the tap of the sink, pumping soap onto his fingers before cleaning them off underneath the soft spray of water.

_ “Are you sure, Sir? Forgive me, but you don’t sound well.” _

Dean caught the mirrored image of Castiel rolling his eyes at the door just before he reached past him to snatch the unwrapped condom out of the sink. 

" _ Sir, if you feel as if you’re about to faint, then I’m going to have to ask you to unlock the door. Safety procedure." _

"No, no, I'm fine,” Dean assured her, glancing to the side when the same foil square landed in the basin next to his face, only now empty. “Just give me a minute or two—oh!"

With Castiel’s hands in a tight grip around his hips, he was pulled back and down onto Castiel’s suddenly naked lap. The right leg of his jeans caught on to and dragged his boot right off his foot when his legs got spread apart, Castiel hooking his ankles around his to force him into straddling both him and the toilet they were seated on. With a steady grip around Dean’s waist, he then proceeded to—holy hell—half lift, half support Dean’s weight until the tip of his member was probing at the taller man’s entrance.

Green eyes met with blue in the mirror on the opposite wall, and Dean gulped down a trembling breath when Castiel’s one hand reached down to grip around the base of himself with a dark smile.

"You better try to stay quiet now, Dean,” Castiel murmured. “This might feel a bit… overwhelming."

Using the remaining grasp around Dean’s hip, he then slowly began to guide Dean's body down over his own, biting back a growl against Dean’s back as the tip of his cock pushed past the first, tight clench of muscles, sheeting him inside.

Dean didn't know what to do with himself. On one hand, there was the alarming dread that he was about to get torn apart from the inside out, yet on the other, there was the wonderful sensation of being  _ filled _ . Of being completed and  _ whole _ ; the slow friction of Castiel's cock sliding into him causing dark spots to dance before his vision until he was convinced that he was actually going to faint.

There was a second knock on the door as the air hostess on the other side said something again, but this time Dean couldn't make out the words. Mainly because Castiel had begun to push his hips up in shallow, lazy thrusts that made Dean’s already shaking breath shrivel up and die inside his chest.

The third knock would have made his eyes snap open, had he only been aware of the fact that he had closed them, and Goddamnit, couldn't a person be allowed some  _ privacy? _

"Tell her to go away Dean..." Castiel whispered hoarsely against his shoulder, stilling beneath him; an action that appeared to take a vast amount of willpower, if the spasmodic twitches that travelled through the other man’s body were of any indication.

"Listen, I'm perfectly alright!" Dean snapped towards the door, pausing for a moment to even his breath before he continued, somewhat harshly: "Would you please go away now so that I can get a moment alone?"

This time he actually managed to bite back the moan that threatened to leave his mouth when Castiel's hands snaked around his waist and began tormenting his nipples once again. 

Dean didn't have many sweet spots, but the ones he did have were absolute magic. Castiel never passed up on a chance to use them against him, was he ever given one; something Dean wasn’t sure if he should be happy or absolutely terrified about.

There was a moment of silence outside the bathroom that to Dean seemed to last an eternity. He bit his lip, breathing harshly through his nose while he once again attempted to halt the teasing motions of Castiel’s fingers through his shirt. 

His hips jerked, driven by some uncontrollable reflex buried deep inside his nervous system, telling him to move, to shove back and relish in the pleasure provided by Castiel’s hard cock inside him. He could almost taste blood on his lips from the punishing clamp of his teeth when finally, the apologetic voice of the air hostess came drifting in through the locked door.

" _ Of course, Sir. Sorry to disturb you _ ."

Dean let out a ragged gasp and lolled his head back against Castiel's shoulder. Castiel gave him about ten seconds of relief, and then he started moving again, the slow thrusts returning along with roaming hands, and a husky groan that was breathed out right next to Dean’s ear.

Dean craned his head back with a low moan, the arm he had used to brace himself on Castiel’s thigh coming up to hook around Castiel’s neck. Twisting his upper body, he then leaned down to catch Castiel’s lips in a hungry kiss, feeling a fire travel through every single vein in his body when Castiel eagerly kissed him back, teeth mouthing at his lower lip while the heat of his breath rush down Dean’s lungs. 

It felt so good…! So  _ incredibly  _ good, and Jesus, if this is what it was like…? Oh, his own fingers would never be enough, not after this. Not after having felt the size of Castiel as he filled him up, so perfectly, flawlessly. God, Dean had no idea that it would feel like this.

His hips rocked back, meeting with one of Castiel’s thrusts, and oh… Oh, that was even better, holy shit…!

He could feel Castiel slide one of his hands down his stomach to wrap around his erection, stroking it slowly in time with the thrusts. Dean's breath hitched when he realized how wet he was, the clear liquid leaking out of him making the touch of Castiel’s fingers slick and easy on his skin as he rubbed his thumb against the frenulum. 

Hearing the stutter in Dean’s breath, Castiel ducked his head to press his lips against the side of Dean’s ribs, muffling his own moan to the best of his ability. Heaven knows the man had never been good at being quiet in bed, a handicap that Dean had never even considered a problem until this very moment.

A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and when he turned his head, he came face to face with the reflected image of them in the bathroom mirror. He could see Castiel’s hand as it moved over his cock, could see the shine of precome that had smeared over the other man’s hand and fingers in the flourescent lights from above. As he watched, he saw Castiel’s mouth press against the side of his chest, jaw slack with unabashed pleasure and had it not been for the fact that he had to keep his hand curled around Castiel’s shoulder to stay upright, Dean would have bitten down on it just to keep himself from moaning out loud.

Instead, he had to settle with simply praying that no one happened to walk past the door outside as a strangled groan clawed its way up his throat when Castiel’s hand and hips picked up speed, thrusting and stroking harder and with more insistency than before.

Castiel was so gorgeous, Dean could barely wrap his head around it. Even with the view of his body obscured by Dean’s own, he was a damn near epitome of everything Dean had ever considered beautiful; the mere sight of him causing sparks of want and need to fly through Dean’s veins.

Castiel was kissing him now; lips moving over the bumps of Dean’s ribs while his tongue licked hot trails over the skin that burned and froze beneath Dean’s gaze all at once. When teeth graced the edge of his right nipple, he whimpered, eyes screwing shut, because he couldn’t watch that. He couldn’t watch Castiel’s mouth touch that part of him right now, or he would go insane; the mere prospects of both sight and touch being far too overwhelming already. 

The sensations were racing through his body like electric currents, clouding his head with blissful pleasure. His knees were shaking with effort, legs turned to jelly beneath his weight as Castiel kept hitting him just right, over and over, until the only thing that kept Dean up was the punishing grip of Castiel’s hand around his waist.

"Oh fuck...” he breathed, helplessly gritting his teeth as he let his forehead drop down to rest against the top of Castiel’s head. “Oh fuck, oh fuckohfuckoh _ fuck...! _ "

Fire coiled in his stomach, his head whirling, and he knew that he wouldn't last much longer. He could feel the sweet rush of climax rush through his body, filling him up with every thrust, and he was going to come, he was coming, oh, yes… yes…!

"No!" he whimpered, writhing in Castiel's lap when the thrusts suddenly seized, Castiel’s hand leaving him twitching as it disappeared from his cock completely in favor of grabbing him hard around the hip.

Dean tried to rock back, a desperate attempt to resume friction, but Castiel kept him where he was, not allowing him to move as much as an inch.

“Keep it down,” Castiel shushed, but staying quiet was the literally the last thing on Dean’s mind at the moment.

"Damnit Cas, don't  _ do  _ this to me!" he hissed, his harsh choice of words oddly contradicted by the wince that shook the sentence like a plea.

"Don't do what?" Cas asked sweetly, feigning an innocence that they both knew wasn’t real. Dean bit back a growl, reminding himself at the last second that shouting would probably not be the brightest thing to do right now.

"You son of a bitch,” he snarled under his breath. “I’m gonna— ah!"

He was cut off when Castiel suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back along with a single, punishing thrust from his hips.

"What was that?" he purred, and Dean’s dick twitched heavily when the low rumble of Castiel’s voice brushed its warning against his skin. “Did you have something to say?” 

Dean swallowed down a frustrated groan, arching his back to the point where he almost lost sight of himself in the mirror to accommodate for the sharp pull on his scalp.

“Nothing?” Castiel asked softly. Dean licked his lips, recognizing that wicked tone well enough to realize that he was now heading out on very deep waters.

“What I meant…” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, “...was that dragging this out might not be a very good idea. Especially since we’re not exactly in  _ private _ ,” he added pointedly, biting the words out between his teeth. 

“You’re saying that you want to come?” Castiel hummed. 

The grip on Dean’s hair shifted, tightening to pull his head to the side until he felt Castiel’s lips brush against the shell of his ear. 

“How about you ask me nicely, and maybe I’ll let you…”

The words punched a moan out of Dean’s lungs; the power in that single sentence more devastating than any stubborn pride Dean might have had left.

" _ Please _ ,” he hissed. “Castiel.”

The sound of Castiel’s sharp intake of breath sent heat rushing up Dean’s spine, fanning out over his neck and arms to make the skin rise and prickle with goosebumps. He smiled in spite of himself. Cas always did like it when Dean used his full name. 

“Please,” he repeated, more pleadingly, shamelessly rocking his hips back as far as Castiel would let him. “Castiel… Fuck me…"

The effect was immediate. Castiel’s throat produced a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through Dean’s entire body, and the second after that, Dean got roughly shoved up and off of Castiel’s lap so fast it sent him stumbling.

Before Dean had even regained his balance, he found himself roughly pinned against the sink once again, with Castiel's hands in a firm grip around both his wrists, holding them down against the edges of the porcelain basin. 

"You're going to be so sore after this, I hope you realize that," Castiel warned him grimly.

"I don't care,” Dean groaned back. “Just hurry up already."

Castiel let out a low chuckle and Dean felt a shudder run down his spine from the sheer sound of it. Castiel released one of his wrists as he reached back to position himself, the very first inch of him sliding back inside Dean with nearly no resistance at all. When Castiel’s lips moved in to press a single, chaste kiss against his neck, Dean closed his eyes and tipped his head down towards the sink, the promising hum of Castiel’s voice making his skin tingle hot all over.

"As you wish..."

Dean's nails dug into the palms of his hands when Castiel slammed into him, his teeth gritting and eyes scrunching tight with the effort not to simply scream his pleasure down the drain as his partner set the pace. 

It was fast and ruthless, the strength behind each thrust forcing Dean to push back in order not to slam headfirst into the sink. Not that he complained, oh no. He knew that he might be doing so later, when his ass had become too sore to even sit on, but right now—like he had said just moments before—he didn’t care.

Stars danced in front of his eyes each time Castiel ground into him, rocking against his prostate in a never ending continuum of electrified stimulation. When his legs began to shake too hard for him to keep himself upright, he simply slumped down over the basin, clinging to it for dear life. 

His mind was short-circuiting, leaving him with every mental fuse completely blown and shattered inside his head as Castiel's right hand released its grip of his arm to move down.

It folded over the edge of his hip, pulling him back to meet with Castiel’s thrusts while the other hand wrapped hard around Dean’s shoulder, preventing the top of his head from slamming into the mirror.

At that point, Dean was barely capable of standing on his own. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he was breathing out broken bits and pieces of half finished sentences into the white porcelain in front of him; moaning whimpers caused by the same pleasure that was boiling like molten lava through his veins.

His gaze fluttered, turning upwards to search for Castiel's eyes in the mirror, wanting to _ see _ . When he found them, he couldn’t help the loud, strangled noise that tore out of his throat.

Castiel was watching him, eyes locked onto Dean’s reflection as if hypnotized, a hungry glow in those dilated pupils that made the pit of Dean’s stomach twist. Just before a new, forceful shove of Castiel’s pelvis forced him to shut his eyes again, Dean saw Castiel open his mouth in a silent groan, and the image caused a throbbing tingle to sweep through his body like a shockwave. It prickled his skin like a million icy needles, making him shiver, his fingers clenching and unclenching against the cool porcelain beneath his hands. 

"You’re so beautiful like this..." he heard Castiel pant behind him, and his voice was like a sugarcoated razor; dragging over Dean’s skin to slice him open, making his soul bleed from such agonizing bliss it was verging on torture.

“So fucking beautiful…” Cas repeated. The hand on Dean’s hip slid further down, wrapping around his cock with firm fingers as Castiel started pumping him in slow, steady strokes.

“I wanted to bend you over like this weeks ago,” Castiel whispered heatedly. “That day you came home from work, all covered in sweat, with your hair looking like someone just fucked the living daylights out of you… Do you remember that?”

Dean nodded, couldn’t risk any movement bigger than that, the control steadily slipping from his fingers. He was absolutely sure that he was going to catch fire at any second. That he would burn from the inside out as he felt the edge of his climax approach in sharp, hot pulses. It was with a panicked jolt to his gut that he realized that he would never be able to hold it all in. There was simply no way that he would be able to keep quiet through this one.

"Cas...” he gasped. “I—I’m not gonna—"

“You looked so hot… That silly grin of yours making you look so deliciously sexy…” Castiel moaned, losing himself in the memory. “I wanted to push you up against the door and fuck you into it. Make the entire building hear how much you loved having me inside you… Oh, God… Feels so  _ good _ , Dean…” 

Castiel’s voice shuddered and broke, the syllable of Dean’s name falling from his lips in a wounded whimper, and just like that Dean was coming; he could feel the orgasm speeding through him like a gigantic tidal wave. His breath almost caught in his throat when he heard himself moan, remembering where they were and how many people there were sitting just outside the door only a split second after the sound left his mouth.

"I'm gonna scream…” he panted, trying to hold the rush at bay long enough to at least issue a warning. “Oh, fuck, Cas, I can't hold it… I can't hold it,  _ Castiel…! _ "

His eyes clenched shut and he opened his mouth, preparing to give voice to the climax that was about to blank out his mind. It would be worth the humiliation, he told himself; it would be worth everything. Then, just before the surge hit, Castiel's hand left his shoulder to clamp down tightly over his mouth, forcefully muffling his cries into a single, unintelligible syllable. 

Dean’s breath beat, hot and heavy into the centre of Castiel’s palm as he came, spilling his release over Castiel’s other hand which was still moving over his cock, milking him together with the frantic thrusts against his prostate.

He felt Castiel bury his face against his back with a groan, and Dean could feel the moist rush of breath that dampened his skin when the other used the fabric of Dean’s t-shirt to stifle the sounds of his own orgasm. 

Dean’s head was still swimming when he felt Castiel slump against his heaving back, twitching and shivering in time with the fading endorphins that still rippled through Dean’s own body. The hand over Dean’s lips fell away and settled on top of his hand instead, their fingers tangling against the white porcelain in a tight, affectionate squeeze.

“So…” Castiel whispered hoarsely after a minute. “Are you feeling relaxed yet?"

Dean grumbled something incoherent into the sink and Castiel chuckled, kissing his back through the t-shirt before leaning off of him. Dean hissed when Castiel pulled out, suddenly terribly grateful that Castiel had shown the presence of mind to wear a condom.  

He glanced down, grimacing at the white streaks that now decorated the front panel of the sink, his eyes following the mess to settle on the matching puddles on the floor.

He heard Castiel reach past him as he pulled a handful of paper towels out of the dispenser next to the sink to clean himself off. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Cas mumbled, lingering to smooth a concerned hand down the centre of Dean’s spine.

“I’m fine…” Dean rasped, clearing his throat when the words came out barely sounding like words at all.

“Are you sure?” Castiel asked and Dean nodded, braving the effort of pushing himself up and off the sink. His knees wobbled, his head reeled, but he was fine. Better than fine, really.

Following Castiel’s example, he grabbed a bunch of paper towels and did his best to clean himself off, using some water from the sink to rid his ass of the excess lube still clinging to his skin.

It felt a bit awkward to clean himself in such a place with Castiel standing right there—even though Castiel was the sole reason as to why he even  _ had  _ to clean himself in the first place—but Castiel didn’t seem to pay his ministrations any attentions, too busy getting dressed to look his way. 

Once Dean deemed the job done, he dropped down to repeat the same process on the floor and sink, wiping them down until he was sure that they looked even cleaner than when he had first entered. He then threw the unused towels into the trashcan after having flushed the used ones down the toilet, and then, finally, he turned around to commence the work of gathering his scattered clothes from the floor. 

His leather jacket was hanging, innocently draped over the big plant that was still standing in the bathroom corner, and he quickly pulled it on, throwing a quick glance at his hair in the mirror as he did so. He didn’t have a very complicated hairstyle, but he sure as hell didn't want to walk back out with hair that screamed 'newly-fucked-bottom' to the entire plane.

Behind him Castiel finished buckling up his belt before he shook the sleeve of his shirt out to button the wrist cuffs, sending Dean a validating look through the mirror at the same time.

"Aren't you going to thank me?" he wondered, amusedly glancing down Dean’s backside to where the other man’s boxers and jeans were still pooled around his feet.

"For...?" Dean answered, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to erase the traces Castiel’s grappling hands had left there. Castiel rolled his eyes to the ceiling, proceeding to button the other cuff of his shirt before answering.

"For curing you from your fear of flying, of course," he stated matter-of-factly, making Dean’s eyebrows shoot up.

"By fucking me?” he asked incredulously. “Man, remind me to never let you open up a clinic."

"Very funny,” Castiel smiled. “But look at it this way..." He leaned in, wrapping both his arms around Dean’s waist from behind and pulling him flush to his chest.

"From this moment on,” he whispered, “whenever you get on, or even think about an airplane, the only thing that's going to fill up your mind is the thought about me, fucking you senseless. You'll never be able to think about flying ever again without recalling the feeling of having me inside you, filling you up and making your mind go numb with pleasure..."

He planted a chaste kiss on Dean's temple and pulled away, straightening his tie in the mirror before reaching for the door handle.

"You've got to admit that it's more fun thinking about that than about the plane crashing," he added, ignoring the flustered glare Dean sent him in return. Instead, he just smiled and gently pushed the door open, throwing a quick, watchful glance down the aisle outside.

"I'll head back to my seat now. You should stay here for a few more minutes before coming out. At least until you’re fully dressed again," he added with a smirk towards Dean’s naked front. Before Dean could splutter out anything that even reminded of coherent response, Castiel had smoothly slunken out into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

When Dean eventually returned to his seat, Castiel was sitting by the window, nursing a newly poured, cold beer in his hands. He was pleased to see the flash of happy abashment that swept across Dean’s face when Dean spotted the similar drink and complimentary bowl of peanuts that were sitting on the table in front of the other seat.

Castiel studied him when he sat down, and he followed the movement of Dean’s arm from the corner of his eye as Dean reached out to grab the beer and bowl with a content sigh.

“Are you really feeling okay?” he asked after Dean had finished taking a deep gulp out of the glass, and Dean turned towards him with his brow skeptically raised.

“Of course I am,” he said, popping a handful of peanuts into his mouth and chewing them loudly. “You’ve asked me that already, you know.”

“I know, I was just thinking…” Castiel cleared his throat. “In case you were having… thoughts about, you know… Your therapy.” He glanced towards the bathroom, urging Dean to take the hint.

Dean’s eyes widened, a deep tint of pink colouring his ears as Dean quickly swallowed the peanuts down with a strangled cough.

“No,” he spluttered before lowering his voice to a murmur, “No, I’m— Alright, so it feels a bit weird. Sore. Back there, I mean, but I don’t… No, I’m fine,” he ended with a diverting snort, as if the suggestion in itself was ridiculous.

“You sure?” Castiel pushed. “Because if I crossed a line in there you have to tell me, I didn’t want to—”

“Cas, I’m  _ fine _ ,” Dean assured him. For a split second, his eyes dropped to the floor before coming back up again, an ever heavier shade of red decorating his ears and neck. 

“I mean…” He cleared his throat, lowering his voice yet again. “You really think I’d let you do that to me unless I really wanted you to?” 

“Not really, no,” Castiel admitted. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Well, I’m sure,” Dean declared. “So there’s no need for a cross hearing.”

Castiel chuckled, taking a moment to contemplate the information.

“I assume that means you liked it then?” he asked with a smile and Dean shrugged again, picking up his beer from the table.

“Like I said, it felt a bit weird,” he repeated. “Not bad weird,” he clarified quickly when he spotted the worried frown on Castiel’s face. “Just… new, you know?”

Castiel nodded, because yes, he knew that feeling very well. 

He sent a glance down Dean’s front, taking in the loose slump of his shoulders, the wide spread of his knees. He also noted that the other still hadn’t buckled his safety belt, the thick nylon strips idly hanging over the edge of Dean’s chair .

For a moment, he considered mentioning it, but decided not to when he saw Dean settle back into his seat, tossing a peanut into the air in a predictably failed attempt to catch it. The image of relaxation that came with the gesture was nothing short of heartwarming.

“So how does it feel to be a member of the Mile High Club?” he said instead, nonchalantly sipping his beer. The snack that had been about to land safely in Dean’s mouth bounced off the other’s cheek and landed somewhere further down the aisle when Dean turned his face to stare at him.

“Mile High—” he stuttered, for a moment looking almost terrified. Then his lips slowly widened, a dazed look of accomplishment settling over his features. 

“Son of a bitch.”

“Bet you never thought you’d be able to say that,” Castiel mused. Deans shook his head, taking another swig of his beer.

“Not really,” he admitted, still grinning. “Guess we can check that off the bucket list, huh?”

“I suppose,” Castiel smiled, “Unless…”

“Unless what?” Dean frowned and Castiel drank deeply from his glass before shrugging.

“I was just thinking…” he drawled. “I mean, there’s always the flight home in case you want to become an honorary member?” He glanced up, making sure to make his face look as innocent as he possibly could. He had to cover up his smile with another drink when Dean’s face turned beet red. 

“Dude,  _ no _ ,” Dean declared with a voice that sounded as if he was scolding a disobedient dog, and Castiel laughed, setting his glass down, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Don’t worry, one therapy session per trip is exciting enough for me,” he promised. “However,” he continued slyly, “I do believe that a follow-up meeting will be required, say… around the time we arrive at the hotel, maybe?”

“Really?” Dean asked, his eyebrow hitching in mock disbelief.

“Oh, yes,” Castiel nodded, sounding very sincere as he leaned over to brace his elbow against Dean’s armrest. “We have to make sure that the treatment worked, won’t we?”

“With a follow-up session?” Dean repeated, shifting in his seat to lean against the same armrest.

“Uh-huh,” Castiel nodded, tilting his head slightly to the side as he eyed the other man up and down with a smirk. “Or maybe even two…?” he purred suggestively.

Dean licked his lips, eyes dropping towards Castiel’s mouth.

“Well…” he murmured, leaning in closer. “I guess it might be a good thing to stay on the safe side…”

“Of course it is,” Castiel smiled, closing the remaining distance with a tender kiss to Dean’s lips. 

Dean hummed as he brought his hand up to rest against Castiel’s cheek in an attempt to deepen the kiss, but Castiel shook his head, pulling away.

“At the hotel, Tiger,” he promised, and even though Dean gave a low, displeased grumble, he still let him go, leaning back into his seat to finish his beer. 

It took him almost a full minute to realize that Cas, at some point during the kiss, somehow had efficiently managed to steal the entire bowl of peanuts straight out of his hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Tags: First time Bottom!Dean, Afraid of Flying!Dean, Caring boyfriend!Cas, Caring Dom!Cas, Anal sex, Public sex, Bathroom sex, Must-be-quiet-or-we'll-get-caught sex_
> 
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> 
> Thank you for reading, guys, and sorry for the long wait <3  
> Please let me know what you thought of the bonus chapter, I'm very curious to hear your opinions :)
> 
> Hope you all are having an awesome day, and I hope to see you in the comment sections of my future fics as well.  
> Take care, darlings! <3


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